Good Advice
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: This story takes place during season one; (episodes 1 - 10!) where d'Artagnan and the musketeers receive good advice. And now in Chapter 10: Athos' truth and d'Artagnan's unwitting part in it is finally revealed – leading to advice from all parties involved.
1. Chapter 1

Good Advice

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This story takes place during the season one pilot, Friends and Enemies. After helping to rescue him from certain execution, Athos gives d'Artagnan some good advice.

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Chapter 1: Advice from Athos

As the inseparables entered the garrison, Treville looked down from the walkway and felt relief.

There stood his three best, right here, where they belonged; the young Gascon some steps behind. He shook his head and wondered at the tenacity of Aramis and Porthos, to get the proof needed to have Athos released at the eleventh hour.

Yesterday, they had rushed to him with musketeer uniforms; Spanish gold; and the whereabouts of Cornet's body and that of his men. They had also dragged into the garrison, Red Guards, tied up and ready to confess to extortion and aiding their Captain, Gaudet, with the murder of Alexandre d'Artagnan and several other innocent people. There was more to this story, he was sure; but no one seemed eager to share how Gaudet had lost his life – but to say it was during a fierce battle.

They had then hastily made their way to the palace to get the King's signature to stay Athos' execution, with d'Artagnan following close behind.

Treville leaned over the railing and called down to the three exhausted musketeers, "come up!" The young Gascon, standing to the side, looked up as well at the summons. "You wait there", he added, "I wish to speak with you in a moment."

d'Artagnan nodded, and sat at the table, as the three made their way up the stairs to Treville's office.

Once inside, Treville gripped the hands of Porthos and Aramis, "Well done", he praised warmly; and then looked to Athos, who stood tiredly before him, his eyes hooded to hide his emotions. He looked disheveled and worn out. He hoped that his few days in the Chatelet had not been too hard on him. A musketeer among criminals would have been difficult.

With no words to express how relieved; pleased; and grateful he was to have Athos, standing alive in front of him; he instead held out his hand. Athos grabbed the offered hand and shook it firmly; understanding the emotions of his Captain behind the gesture.

Aramis and Porths had no such inhibitions. The handshake between their Captain and Athos was barely over before they pulled Athos into a three way hug. "All for one and one for all", they whispered softly to their brother. He leaned into their embrace, and wondered for the hundredth time at their loyalty to him.

They stood firm together for several moments with the Captain leaning against his desk, feeling his knees go weak.

He sat down heavily in his chair, feeling giddy and lightheaded. What would they have done if things had gone differently? He put his head in his hands and covered his eyes, noticing the slight tremors in his hands.

He knew he should have no favorites, but these three had a way about them that endeared them to him more like family than just soldiers. They were his weakness, and he knew it. One day, his feeling for them could be used against him.

When he looked up, the three before him had let each other go, and sighed deeply as one.

Aramis kissed Athos on the cheek, "Were you so ready to die?" he asked, recalling Athos' urgent plea to the firing squad to cut his life short.

Athos lifted his gaze to meet his friend's, but did not reply. The room became still and only their breathing could be heard in the quiet room. Porthos gripped Athos' shoulder and shook it with some force, "That was much to close", he surmised. Worried that Athos had no reply to having a death wish.

Athos nodded and exhaled, "yes", and then smiled slightly. "I thank you all, and of course I will thank his Majesty personally for the stay."

Treville looked up from his hands, "Thank your fellow musketeers and that young man at the bottom of the stairs."

"He led the charge to help prove your innocence", Aramis acknowledged.

"We couldn't have done it without d'Artagnan's help", Porthos agreed, "He is as stubborn and as single minded as you."

Athos remembered the look of him at the Chatelet. He seemed certain of himself- confident and self-assured. That he would risk his own life to help prove the innocence of someone he did not know meant something. He then thought back to their initial meeting. There was a gift there; a talent for the sword. But underneath it, was grief and rage.

"Of course, I will thank him also."

"I wish to speak with him first", Treville announced. "What you need Athos is rest; and to visit the infirmary. You are ordered to stand down for the next few days. This could not have been easy for you." He looked to his second and only received a brief nod as a reply. Treville knew he would see him in the morning.

As the three left his office, Treville called down for d'Artagnan to join him.

Hearing his name called with such authority, d'Artagnan leapt to his feet and made for the stairs. The three musketeers made their way down toward him, and as they crossed paths, Porthos and Aramis slapped him on the back and smiled at him widely. He smiled back; but noticed that Athos had no such salute for him.

d'Artagnan continued on to Treville's office with some apprehension. What could the Captain of the King's Musketeers possibly want to see him about?

Before they had headed off to the Chatelet, he had already thanked him for his part in helping to prove Athos' innocence; and had expressed his condolences on the loss of his father; but was glad they had found the true culprits.

He stood anxiously at the door and then looked back down below him and caught the musketeer Athos looking up at him with an expression he could not read. But then their eyes connected and he saw a slight nod encouraging him to enter the office.

So, with that reinforcement, he took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold.

Treville stood behind his desk, and beckoned him to enter and close the door behind him. d'Artagnan closed the door, and turned with trepidation. Had he done something wrong? Was he to be politely sent away?

While accompanying Aramis and Porthos, he had thought to ask the Captain if he could stay; perhaps he could train to be a musketeer. Things had been so hectic; his chances to ask had been few. Now it looked as if his chance had passed him by.

He had no one now; and could not bear to go home to Lupiac with his father not there.

After his death, he had taken his father home, and buried him beside his mother; and sworn over his grave to bring his killers to justice. He had done that and more. He had also seen the bravery and courage of the King's Musketeers.

He had felt something as well. He had felt a sense of belonging and purpose. And when he had engaged Athos in the courtyard, those many days ago, he felt not only rage at the time; but also excitement.

His father had been his teacher; and they had sparred many times, but he had never felt what he felt that afternoon when he had challenged Athos to a duel. Fury had fueled him on. But he could feel the adrenaline in his body; and the genius of Athos. He would give anything to be able to wield a sword the way Athos did. He was so in control; and moved without breaking a sweat. He was at ease in his movements; and only struggled when he tried to get him to listen. Athos had woken something in him.

Looking back on it, the man had defeated him with little effort; and had actually spared his life.

d'Artagnan thoughts were interrupted by Treville speaking, "I saw you in the courtyard with Athos; and there is some real talent there."

d'Artagnan's mind snapped to attention, "Talent? He could have killed me if he had a mind to."

Treville looked at d'Artagnan closely. Did this boy really not see it? "You pushed him and gave him a good fight. Not many recruits or experienced musketeers for that matter keep his attention for as long as you did."

d'Artagnan wasn't sure he was hearing this right. The Captain obviously did not see the fight the way he saw it.

Treville took a leap, "Would you like to stay d'Artagnan, and train here at the garrison, with the musketeers? We cannot offer you room or board; or pay, but we can offer you meals and when your training is complete, a possible commission, if the King sees fit."

d'Artagnan found himself bobbing his head up and down, and with no hesitation answering, "Yes. Yes sir. I would like that very much."

Treville smiled, pleased with that response, "Very good then. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning to begin. We meet in the courtyard."

d'Artagnan left Treville's office in a daze, unsure of how he made it down the stairs. His life would take a detour starting at this moment. He would not go back to Gascony. For now, he would leave his father's farm behind. He would give this a go, and hope against hope that he was good enough. He hoped his father would be proud that he was being given this opportunity.

When he made it to the bottom of the stairs, there was Athos sitting at the table. He stood when d'Artagnan reached him, "Has he offered you to stay and train then?"

d'Artagnan unable to find his voice, nodded in the affirmative.

Athos held out his hand; and d'Artagnan reached out to take it. Athos held his hand firmly and shook it with gratitude, "I thank you for helping to save my life; and will see you in the morning."

He let go then, and began to walk away; but instead turned back, "May I give you some advice, something to think about before tomorrow?" he asked.

d'Artagnan nodded, his mind still dazed with this turn of events.

"The other day, when we fought here, I felt your gift. But there are some flaws in your technique."

d'Artagnan stood to his full height to listen; and perhaps hear his first tip on how to improve from this master swordsman.

Athos frowned and spoke slowly, "You lead with your emotions; parry with indignation and strike with anger. If you don't control this", he touched his fist over d'Artagnan's heart, and tapped it there, "it will get you killed, no matter how much talent you have."

He looked d'Artagnan full in the eyes hoping this young man could hear him; and understand his words.

d'Artagnan's brow furrowed, but he held Athos' gaze and nodded all the same.

Athos looked hard and deep into that gaze and sighed. Not today then – perhaps he would hear the advice tomorrow.

He stepped away then, and left to join his brothers at the Wren to drink and try to forget that he had almost lost his life today; that secretly he had been ready to lose his life today. But now something had changed. Instead of feeling adrift; he looked forward to tomorrow.

He would leave the Wren early tonight; to be ready.

d'Artagnan stood still for a time; and thought on the advice Athos had just given him. He wasn't quite sure what the man was trying to say to him. How could he fight, if he had no anger to drive it?

He shook these thoughts from his head. For now, he would go to the Bonacieux home and rest. He looked forward to tomorrow.

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To Be Continued.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think. As always, comments, follows, favorites and reviews are much appreciated and help motivate me to improve.


	2. Chapter 2

Good Advice

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode, Sleight of Hand. After the mission in the tunnels under the Louvre; and the demise of Vadim, Aramis gives d'Artagnan some good advice.

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Chapter 2: Advice from Aramis

d'Artagnan woke gradually from a horrible dream. He dreamed he had been tied to one hundred barrels of gunpowder, tied up, and blown to bits; his body shattered into a million pieces.

As he slowly opened his eyes, a bright whiteness spread across his vision, and he quickly shut them again tightly. The light ruthlessly bombarded his senses and caused a spike of pain, right behind his eye sockets.

He groaned and tried to turn away from the unrelenting brightness that now pierced through his closed eye lids. But when he turned his ribs and back pulled and exploded into an agony that stole his breath. Perhaps it was not a dream after all. Was this what a million pieces felt like?

When he attempted to put air into his lungs; that only caused his stomach to roll and churn; and before he knew it he could feel whatever lay in his stomach crawl up into his throat.

He gagged and then suddenly felt hands pushing him to roll over and turn onto his side; holding his head over the edge of the pallet he lay on.

"Hold him steady", he heard, but could not identify who was speaking.

And then it all came up into a well-placed bucket – rushing from his throat, causing him to sputter and gasp. He squeezed his eyes tighter still, and felt someone pull his hair from his face and wipe his mouth with a wet cloth.

Before he could think about what was happening, it all came up again, and then again, until his abdomen hurt so bad, he could not hold himself on his side any longer. He was spent; trying to retrieve as much air as he could before it started all over again.

When he leaned back, he could feel a body there next to him, holding him in place, keeping all the pieces together; and then he descended down into quiet.

Athos held tight to d'Artagnan's shoulders, and looked across his body to Porthos, who continued to clean the bile from his face. "Why didn't he say something?" he asked sternly; angry at himself for not noticing the extent of d'Artagnan's injuries; angry for putting him in this sick bed; angry with d'Artagnan for trying too hard; and angry with himself for letting him.

Porthos shrugged his shoulders, and thought to himself that was an interesting question coming from a man who hid everything; and shared almost nothing. Aloud he said, "Maybe the draught Aramis has gone to get will help him."

Athos looked down at d'Artagnan, his brow creased in consternation, and then he thought back to the aftermath of the whole Vadim fiasco.

They had all been covered in dirt, exhausted, and moving slowly; but by some miracle they were on their feet.

When they had come upon d'Artagnan in the tunnels; he had felt such relief. He had thought d'Artagnan lost, and had begun to prepare himself for death; and wondered at the pain of it. His usual mechanism of shutting down in order to dampen his emotions was proving ineffective.

But as they walked side by side, d'Artagnan had seemed fine. He had just been speaking to them; his anger rising step after step over being used and tricked by Vadim. He, himself was admittedly testy and out of sorts; expressing concern that this could have all gone wrong if not for luck. Aramis was barely listening; kissing his newly gifted good luck piece; and Porthos could not stop himself from smiling over how fortunate they were to be alive.

He had walked with them away from the ruins of the tunnels; the wharf; and Vadim. Everything would work out now that they were reunited. But halfway to the garrison, d'Artagnan had collapsed without warning.

Surprised, Porthos had moved quickly; gathered him up into his arms; and carried him the rest of the way to the garrison; and into the infirmary.

They had all been at a loss. The suddenness of it was so unexpected. Going from loss to relief to this uncertainty was unsettling. Just that quickly their good fortune had seemed to evaporate.

But once they got a good look at him, they understood why he had collapsed.

Aramis examined him quickly and pointed out the bump on his head; the chafing on his wrists and the bruises on his back and ribs. Evidently he had been on the receiving end of a beating; and had been near the heart of the explosion and had neglected to say anything.

Athos now sat at his back, holding him to his side, to keep his bile from choking him; and felt his own temper rising and threatening to choke him as well.

He gripped d'Artagnan's shoulders tightly. Did this boy not listen? This was not a one man operation. If things were precarious, he was to say so. Athos shook his head in annoyance. He should have pulled d'Artagnan out when he had the chance. His initial instincts had been correct. It had been too dangerous.

What had he been thinking to have agreed to this plan? Though it had worked; it had done so at a price. d'Artagnan could have been killed. Then what? The Captain had thought the risk acceptable. Athos was not so sure. He had thought he had only enough space to hold worry for his brothers; now it seemed that d'Artagnan had found room there with them.

When Aramis returned with the draught, Athos stood from the pallet, "Will he be alright?" he questioned. Aramis looked at him curiously, "I believe with rest, yes. He is most likely concussed and will be sore for some time. But there seems to be nothing here that sleep won't cure."

Athos nodded. He needed to excuse himself. He needed to be alone and think. He took one last look down at d'Artagnan, frowned and left the room.

Aramis and Porthos shared a silent communication of worry; cleaned d'Artagnan up and sat to wait for him to waken enough to drink the draught for pain.

When d'Artagnan woke next, he didn't understand what was happening. He felt pain so strong, he gasped, and went to sit up; but couldn't get far. When he opened his eyes fully, Porthos sat next to him on the pallet, holding his shoulders to keep him still.

What was happening? Where was he? Why couldn't he think? He then felt a coolness on his face; and saw that Porthos was wiping his brow with a damp cloth. He relaxed then; saw that Porthos was smiling down at him; and felt comforted.

"Do you remember what happened d'Artagnan? Do you know where you are?"

He shook his head no, but creased his brow and tried to concentrate. Suddenly Aramis was there handing Porthos a cup, "Get him to drink this so he can rest."

Porthos lifted the cup to his lips, and d'Artagnan drank obediently. It did not taste well, but he could feel the effects almost immediately; and before he closed his eyes asked, "What has happened? Where is Athos?"

The two musketeers watched as d'Artagnan's eyes grew heavy; and his body relaxed into sleep.

"He should be fine, with rest." Aramis predicted, taking a seat nearby.

Porthos took a deep and cleansing breath, "Where is Athos", he demanded.

"He has most likely walked off his anger and guilt; and by now, is probably taking it all out on poor Treville", Aramis answered.

Porthos shook his head, exasperation written all over his body. He stood and made his way to the door, "I will go and set him straight."

Aramis nodded, and pulled his chair closer to the pallet to keep watch.

Over the next few hours Athos, Porthos, and even Treville wandered in and out of the infirmary to check on d'Artagnan. Athos seemed less and less tense, but more and more introspective at each visit – giving Aramis some cause to worry about his state of mind. But Porthos was ever at his side; so he gave the man space.

He could guess at the introspection. Athos had taken to d'Artagnan quickly. So quickly, it had alarmed him at first. It had taken him and Porths almost a year to gain the man's trust; and even now he knew they did not have all of it. His love and loyalty, he had given unconditionally over time; and brothers now they were. But Athos had hidden depths, and kept his emotions close and guarded.

But there had been something almost immediate with d'Artagnan, and Aramis knew it perplexed Athos. It made him protective; and uneasy around d'Artagnan at the same time. He could tell the man felt uncertain of his role. Was he d'Artagnan's teacher; mentor; or friend? The boundaries were blurred and he stepped lightly unsure where and when to be firm or encouraging. That they were so much alike didn't help.

Suddenly, a groan came from the pallet and Aramis moved into d'Artagnan's line of sight, waiting for him to open his eyes. When he had them fully open, d'Artagnan took a deep breath; and found that he was staring straight into Aramis' eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

d'Artagnan broke eye contact; looked around the room and instinctively stretched his limbs. He nodded his head; and when he tried to speak – no sound came out.

"Here have some water." Aramis lifted his head to help him drink. After taking a few sips of water, and clearing his throat d'Artagnan answered, "I hurt, but I get the feeling that I'm lucky to be alive." The trepidation on his face told Aramis that his memories of the day were all intact.

Taking the cup, Aramis chuckled at the assessment, "Indeed" he agreed.

He sat down again, next to the pallet and addressed d'Artagnan seriously, "Tell me d'Artagnan, why didn't you tell us you were hurt; or that you were almost killed in that explosion? Or that you needed our help?"

d'Artagnan wasn't sure how to answer all those questions. It wasn't really clear to him, why he hadn't said anything. He sat quietly for some moments trying to gather his thoughts. Aramis waited patiently, and did not rush him.

"I think I was so angry, that I really didn't feel anything. I just kept thinking that I wanted you all to trust me so badly; to know that I could get the job done. I wanted to show you that I could be a musketeer and not just be about musketeer business. And I wanted you to know that I could handle anything Vadim threw at me. But Vadim played me for a fool and he was right."

After such a long speech, d'Artagnan felt his ribs pull; and his headache spiked. He had to close his eyes to gain control over his body. He was such an idiot. The musketeers had put their faith in him, and if not for pure luck, would have failed them miserably. He could still hear Vadim mocking him, even as he lay dying.

Aramis squeezed his shoulder and waited with him for the wave of pain to dissipate.

When he had settled again, and was breathing easier, Aramis shook his shoulder gently to gain his attention, "I want to give you some advice d'Artagnan, and hope you will hear it. There is no need for you to win our trust. You already have it. Getting yourself killed is not necessary, will prove nothing; and will only cause us pain."

d'Artagnan turned his head away, his cheeks flushed red.

Aramis raised an eyebrow and understood, "So, you think it is Athos who does not trust you. Believe me d'Artagnan, Athos trusts you as much as he trusts anyone, and there are only a few people he counts as those he can rely on."

d'Artagnan thought back to Athos' remarks regarding the mission, "I remember how angry he was; and that he didn't really didn't think I was the man for the job. "

"Yes – you match tempers well. But what he is feeling is not anger or mistrust. He is feeling guilt that he allowed us all to talk him into something that your inexperience was not ready for. You were able to sway his better judgement; and you are quite good at that by the way."

He paused to smile with d'Artagnan over that bit of truth.

"He thinks he almost got you killed", he continued gravely.

d'Artagnan pushed his head back into the pillow; and let out a loud groan of embarrassment, "I almost got myself killed. He had nothing to do with that."

Aramis looked down at him fondly, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."

d'Artagnan frowned up at him and looked to Aramis without understanding.

"That is from Proverbs", he explained.

d'Artagnan frowned the more. "I believe I give you too much counsel in one day", he laughed.

"Just do me a favor", he continued," and slow down. Don't be in such a hurry. I have no doubt you will become a musketeer. In the meantime, learn from us what we can teach you. Pick our brains. We have a lot to offer. And also – trust goes both ways. Tell us if you need help. We would have come up with a solution, yes?"

d'Artagnan nodded. Yes, he should have let them know the moment he felt uncertain; but gaining their trust, and respect had overruled his common sense. Now that he was thinking about it, hadn't Athos tried to tell him something like this before?

And just as that thought hit him, Porthos entered the room and seeing d'Artagnan awake, descended on him good naturedly and wanted to hear all that had happened in the tunnels.

d'Artagnan then looked to the door, hoping to see Athos enter also; but he did not.

A little disappointed, he sat up slowly to lean his back on the headboard, and began to tell Aramis and Porthos of Vadim's plan of misdirection and illusion; how easily he had been fooled; and how sorry he was for passing on misinformation.

Just as he was about to explain about being tied to barrels of explosive gun powder – Athos walked in the room and took a seat at the far wall. His expression was neutral and he inclined his head for d'Artagnan to continue with his story.

d'Artagnan swallowed hard, and just before continuing, remembered Aramis' advice; so added, "And this is where I could have really used your help….."

Athos leaned forward to listen.

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To be continued.

Thank you for reading. I also want to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed after reading chapter one. Please review and let me know what you think of chapter two! There is just something really great about receiving your positive comments.


	3. Chapter 3

Good Advice

By: Musketeer Adventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode, Commodities. After the return of Bonnaire to the Spanish, Porthos gives d'Artagnan some good advice.

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Chapter 3: Advice from Porthos

The streets were busy and bursting with people; brushing shoulder to shoulder; elbow to elbow; bumping body to body; no apologies expected. Noise clamored around well-lit lanterns that left whispers in the shadowed alleys and under drafty archways. Water could be heard lapping on to the shore; heaving against ships; and spraying onto the wharf. Voices yelled from decks, causing echoes to bounce across the water and onto land.

But that was Le Havre – a harbor town – full of life; hustle; and opportunity. Throngs of people entered to bargain with life; those leaving, to start anew elsewhere; some forced to depart under threat of death; and some spirited away to pay for their crimes.

d'Artagnan was glad to leave it behind.

As they left the tavern and entered onto the bustle that was Le Havre – Athos had turned to d'Artagnan and in a tone that bespoke regret in some way said, "If only all wrongs were so easily corrected."

d'Artagnan thought, he must mean many things, and not just that Bonnaire was getting what he deserved. As Athos left his side, he stood alone for a moment and considered his statement. It was true.

Bonnaire had been given his comeuppance and they all felt the better for it. But d'Artagnan knew that Athos carried a weight that could not be so easily settled.

But contemplating on this only made him think of his father – who he carried with him every day; every hour; and on more grief stricken days – every moment.

Athos was right. It had been wrong that his father was dead; a good man murdered and taken before his natural time. He had not been ready for him to go; and saw him struck down in his mind's eye, dying in the street every night in his dreams and during quiet moments in the daylight.

He had not been ready to be left alone – and today, he really needed to talk with him. So Athos was right; this wrong would never be corrected.

His father had always been a good listener. And today, he would have liked to share with him his thoughts on the brutality of slavery and the bitterness he felt toward the callousness of Bonnaire and men like him.

Injustices like this weighed on him and made him want to be a musketeer all the more.

He would also share another weight on his mind; Athos and his secret. But he had no one now; no one to talk out his worries to. He felt constricted and contained. If he did not calm himself or release this heaviness somehow, he was going to explode.

So, once on the road back to Paris – the travel had been quiet between the four, with everyone's thoughts turned inward, unwilling to share aloud under the cover of darkness. The only noise heard among them was their horse's hooves cantering at a walk on the dirt road.

Porthos rode along happily and took delight in conjuring up the look on Bonnaire's face as he realized he had been handed over to Spain. If not a musketeer; sworn to duty and honor – he would have ran the man through on principal alone. He could not abide slavery; and he could not abide Bonnaire's flippancy over the packing of human beings as cargo.

For the brief time he knew his mother, her memories of slavery had scarred her; and left an impression on him for life. Yes – if not for duty and this plan concocted by his brothers – he might have killed him.

So, he was pleased, and could journey back home to Paris feeling good that some penalty had been doled out to this slave trader – Richelieu be damned. He laughed quietly, wondering what the Cardinal's reaction would be once hearing of Bonnaire's misfortune.

Aramis rode alongside his good friend and heard him laughing softly and knew he thought of Bonnaire in chains among the Spanish. He then laughed too – sharing in his brother's coup. It had frightened him to see Porthos physically injured; but to see his reaction to Bonnaire's enterprise in the trading and transporting of human life pained him more.

He had never seen Porthos so overcome with rage toward another person like that before. It was as if a storm had overpowered him. If they had not been there to stop him – he believed he could have killed Bonnaire with his one bare hand. His strength had been formidable; even weak from injury and blood loss.

He was glad to see his friend smiling; and rode contently beside him.

Athos rode atop his mount closed up and taciturn. It was still unbelievable to him what had happened back at Pinon. That fate would see him home after five years away was beyond belief. That Porthos could have lost his life on this mission weighed on his conscience. But that his dead wife had returned to burn the past to the ground; and in turn destroy him was beyond possibility – yet it had happened.

Back there – he wished she had done it – slit his throat and let him finally have peace. How was he to live now? Knowing that she lived caused him pain; and surprisingly awoke in him something he could not name. He had thought one way – duty; honor; self-destruction; and infliction of self-harm- for five years. How was he to turn that off?

He felt d'Artagnan riding alongside him. Was it fair to weigh him down with such a burden as this secret? He knew when he asked it of him that he would keep it.

He felt the tension in d'Artagnan and hoped he did not ask too much of him.

But then he heard Porthos and Aramis laughing and knew they thought of the dire straits Bonnaire was in with Spain. His worries floated away for the moment; and he joined in with their feeling of camaraderie. He would enjoy this victory with his brothers for now and think on Anne and her resurrection another time.

d'Artagnan heard the three musketeers laughing softly with each other – as if they had been speaking together aloud and were now enjoying a private joke only they understood. He felt removed from them and did not understand how they could speak to each other without words.

That constricted feeling of compression – wound around him even tighter. He pressed his heels to his horse's flank and wanted to surge ahead and gallop hard and fast – no matter that his horse would stop on him in a few miles. If he couldn't talk out his worries – maybe he could drive them out by riding as hard as he could.

But at that moment, Athos reached across and grabbed his reins; looking to him with a concerned expression.

d'Artagnan had to ease back and found himself having to get his horse under control from the mixed messages of flight and walk he was receiving.

"Where is it you wish to ride off to so quickly?" Athos asked.

d'Artagnan wasn't sure how to answer. He desperately needed someone to confide in and his father was not here. He had no family to turn to. He was alone.

When he did not answer – Athos held tight to the reins, "Stay close d'Artagnan. The road is dark this night. We will be to Paris soon enough."

d'Artagnan swallowed down his anxiety and nodded his head in assent. He felt the need to ride ahead; and to scream into the night if he could get far enough away. But he would not disobey Athos' order.

So the rest of the journey was ridden in silence; the musketeers and d'Artagnan; steadily making their way to Paris without incident.

Once returned to the garrison and their horses seen to; the four had bid good night – going in different directions. Aramis to see to Porthos; and be sure he did not upset his needlework once again; and Athos to report to Treville their return.

d'Artagnan stood in the middle of the garrison yard and decided to take a seat at the table of the inseparables. After the many revelations of the past few days, he just wanted to give his mind some peace. His body was tired; but his thoughts were whirling with all that he had learned.

Sitting here, alone, under the dark sky and bright moonlight – helped him to think a little. It was when he sat still like this – he thought of his father most; and when he even missed Lupiac.

Here under the blanket of night – he could almost feel the farm; the gentle breeze sweeping over the grass; and see the door to his father's house, home, open to let him in. He could almost hear his father calling to him to stop his daydreaming and come inside.

It pained him now to think of how they would sit together by the hearth. He would tell his father about the day – who said what at the market; how he dreamed to see what lay beyond Lupiac; and what worries plagued him.

He placed his head on the table and tried very hard to feel his father's presence. Instead he felt grief, guilt, and alone.

After a time he felt a hand fall to his shoulder and sat up startled. There sitting next to him was Porthos – smiling at him through a grimace of pain. "What keeps you here this late d'Artagnan? I thought you were on your way to the Bonacieux's."

d'Artagnan bowed his head with no real reason to give; so made up one, "I don't wish to disturb the household at such an hour – so sat here to think what I should do."

Porthos looked closely at d'Artagnan and nodded his head, "I see."

They sat silent side by side for a time, listening to the crickets; and the night sounds of the garrison – horses braying; hushed whispering among men in their quarters; and footsteps of men on duty, hitting gravel.

"These past few days, I have been thinking a lot of my mother", Porthos began – looking over to d'Artagnan; to see his reaction to the topic.

"She and I were a family until I was five years old and the fever took her. Though I didn't know her for very long, I remember her vividly. She was a beautiful woman, in looks and in her spirit. She has guided my every step; in every way; in every part of my life. She taught me everything I ever needed to know to become the man I am today. She taught me the will to live; and to survive. I hope that wherever she is; she can see her son now – a musketeer!"

Porthos grinned; and d'Artagnan couldn't help but to smile with him. He could hear the love and pride he felt for her shine through his speech.

"She sounds like a wonderful woman. What of your father?"

Porthos thought on this question and frowned, "I don't know my father. He could be dead for all I know; and I don't remember her ever really speaking of him."

Porthos paused to look up at the night sky and the clouds passing over the stars. "But when she died I learned that I could be part of another family, with people who were no relation to me; people who cared what happened to me - a family of people who laughed with me; grieved with me; and taught me how to live in a city that could easily have swallowed me up. They became my family for a time."

d'Artagnan turned to look away; his eyes growing bright with unshed tears.

"Now – in this part of my life – I have another family; these fellow musketeers and my brothers."

d'Artagnan spoke up, "You mean Aramis and Athos."

Porths nodded, "Yes, they are my family; loyal and true. I trust them with my life. And this is a family you can be a part of too. We can't replace your father – who taught you all you needed to know in order to be a good man. But we can be here to listen; to teach; and to enjoy life with."

Porthos then grabbed d'Artagnan's neck and squeezed tightly, "Open up to this possibility lad- we are here and willing."

d'Artagnan leaned into his grip and felt the sincerity in his words. "How did you know?" he asked, feeling the tight band around his body relax and the volcano in his chest ease.

Porthos slapped the back of his head gently; and with affection, "How did you know to go back for Athos?" He paused a moment – waiting; hoping d'Artagnan would sense the connection.

d'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders; he had no logical explanation.

After a moment Porthos bellowed, "Come d'Artagnan. You can't sit here all night. You can bunk with me. Aramis and Athos are already there; and the four of us can talk – yeah"

d'Artagnan sat up to go with him, but hesitated, "I don't wish to intrude", he began – remembering how close the three were; how they thought as one; and how they spoke without speaking; and how they were inseparable.

"What did I just say d'Artagnan? There is no intruding with family." He then grabbed the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

d'Artagnan stood then, and bowed his head saying, "Thank you Porthos"; and together they walked side by side across the yard to join Aramis and Athos for the night.

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	4. Chapter 4

Good Advice

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode, The Good Soldier. After Marsac's death; and the uncovering of the Captain's long held secret – Treville has some advice for d'Artagnan.

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Chapter 4

The outskirts of the palace grounds were peaceful and quiet. Except for the humming bees; chirping birds and the sounds of rustling leaves from the subtle breeze, d'Artagnan could hear no unusual disturbances.

It seemed no one ventured here during the mid-day meal time hour; a fact he had researched thoroughly and found acceptable.

d'Artagnan was relieved and happy with his choice. He had scouted out this area a few days ago when Constance had asked him to teach her how to shoot and to use a sword. He had searched out less high profile places; but needed somewhere private; yet near to her home, so that she could come and go quickly. This to him had been the perfect spot. She would like it here.

When he had told her of this place; she had giggled, with wide eyes; covering her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "The palace grounds!" she had squealed, "You are so bold!"

He then had laughed with her; both looking over their shoulders to be sure her husband was not around to see their mutual joy. This was their secret, and it felt exciting; their own private adventure.

He hoped now that no one would wander out here during his instructions; as she had wanted to keep this between them; for her husband not to know.

He remembered when she had asked this of him; and blushed now as he did then; her closeness causing all sorts of interference with his heartbeat; his breathing; and his body. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on him.

She was such a beautiful, strong willed and brave woman. He was ashamed that he thought of her as someone to pursue. She was after all married. His father would not be pleased. He could actually predict what he would say; if he were here with him now – that marriage was sacred; a vow to be kept. But he could also hear Aramis whispering in his ear, "I think she likes you." And he could feel an attraction to her, that he could not deny.

He creased his brow and wondered if meeting her here today could be construed as inappropriate; wrong in some way.

However, thinking on it, Constance had seemed excited and eager to meet. She was determined to learn all he had to teach. So he dismissed the thought that quickly, and continued to place the bottles they would use for target practice on the grass.

Besides, Constance was his friend; and there was nothing wrong with meeting up with a friend to show them how to defend themselves – right?

He laughed softly to himself. She wanted to fight like a man; so he would teach her, as Athos was teaching him. He agreed with her – there was nowhere written that a woman had to always be dignified and ladylike; or told how to be.

He remembered how she had smiled up at him and asked, "Why should men have all the fun?"

He didn't know why that should be – so he had bowed to her independent streak, and agreed to be her teacher.

That's why he liked her so much. He didn't want anyone to tell him how to be either.

Anyway, he had promised her he would do this, to make up for being untruthful and for putting her virtue in jeopardy with Marsac.

d'Artagnan began to remove the flowers from the flower stand he would use to place the bottles on and paused. He thought back to that moment in the Bonacieux home and knew that if not for his loyalty to Aramis, he would have killed Marsac for putting his hands on Constance.

When he heard her scream and struggle against him, an overwhelming instinct had kicked in to protect her. She had put on a brave face and had said she could have taken care of herself – but they both knew better. He shuddered to think what could have happened, if he hadn't shown up just at that moment.

Yes – he would instruct her on how to shoot a musket and use a sword. That is what friends did. But deep down; he knew he wished for more.

When he was near her, he had little control over his body and worked hard to contain his desires.

Outside of his first experience with a woman and feelings of love; he had not felt such overpowering emotions as he did with her. He wondered if she could sense his awkwardness and uncertainty when he was around her. He had made it his mission to appear cool and in control when in her presence.

Looking up at the clear sky; and sensing the hour, he hoped she could get away. This sneaking around was a precarious business and he did not want them to get caught having to explain what it was they were doing and why. His honor and her reputation were at stake; and he didn't want to do anything that would hurt her.

He pulled the flower stand over to the smooth walkway underneath the awning for shade; and placed a bottle inside. This would be a great start. He was looking forward to being the teacher for once; and sharing what he had been learning from the musketeers.

But when he looked up from his task – there was Captain Treville walking toward him.

Quickly and with some apprehension, d'Artagnan looked around the quiet area and with relief saw no one else about.

He slowly released his breath and wondered what the Captain was doing here.

For the past few days he had not known how to quite interact with the Captain. He had such respect for the man and could not really understand his part in the events that led up to the massacre in Savoy.

Athos had been drilling into him the ideas of duty; honor; and the musketeer code. But somehow it was difficult to reconcile his teachings with what he had learned about Savoy. How could there be all for one; and betrayal at the same time?

Marsac had been damaged and destroyed by the events five years ago; had never recovered; and died a sad and broken man. Aramis suffered still and would live with the internal scars of surviving; and killing his friend – perhaps all his life.

Athos had tried to explain; and emphasized that a soldier must follow orders – even if they seemed contrary to beliefs. There was always a bigger picture.

But then he had looked at him so intently with a gaze so piercing – he thought Athos meant to tell him other things too. So, he had waited patiently with some anticipation to hear more. Instead, Athos had sighed and said, "This is the way of a soldier."

But the slaughter of his own men; how could the Captain rationalize the death of twenty men just to contain a secret?

He shook his head. He wasn't privy to all the details; he was not a musketeer; and he did not always understand the workings of power and politics.

But as the Captain came toward him, he knew nothing could keep him from respecting this man – who had shown him nothing but regard; had taken him into the garrison; trusted him; and was giving him the opportunity of a lifetime.

The Captain would have his loyalty. He could hear his father saying to him, that all men make mistakes; and good men learn from them. He knew Captain Treville was a good man.

As the Captain stood before him now, d'Artagnan met his gaze and greeted him warily with a nod, "Captain?"

"What brings you here d'Artagnan" the Captain countered.

d'Artagnan cleared his throat, and with some part of the truth answered, "I'm waiting for a friend to practice shooting and swordplay."

The Captain smiled faintly and leaned forward into his personal space, "And you could not meet this friend at the garrison?"

d'Artagnan felt his face flush and beads of sweat crawl down his back.

"No sir, we thought here, where it's quiet, we could get more done."

d'Artagnan knew he sounded ridiculous and unbelievable, but could think of no other reason to give.

Treville raised his eyebrow, "Yes, it is quiet here. I sometimes take this route back to the garrison after meetings with the King and the Cardinal. It gives me a chance to think." He paused and looked to d'Artagnan with a steady gaze.

"Not many people take this path, but it does see its share of commuters – perhaps in an hour or so." Treville looked to him with some meaning behind his words, and d'Artagnan took the time frame to heart.

"Yes sir" he said as if saying, thank you.

The Captain then moved as if to continue on his way, but instead stopped in his tracks and turned back to face d'Artagnan.

"You are not yet a musketeer d'Artagnan; but seeing you here without the Palace having knowledge of it; gives me pause. Something is afoot here."

d'Artagnan lowered his head and his hair fell over his face – hiding his red cheeks and this secret he and Constance were about to commit.

Reading d'Artagnan's body language, Treville continued, "If nothing else, I have learned in my career; and in life; is that secrets can be a dangerous ally. At first that secret serves a purpose – sometimes even a noble one. But then later - sometimes years later, that secret comes back to haunt you and perhaps even destroy what you thought you were protecting."

d'Artagnan looked up then – thinking the Captain must be musing on his part with the massacre in Savoy. But when they made eye contact, he thought, no, he was trying to tell him something as well.

The Captain continued to look to him solemnly and waited. d'Artagnan shifted from foot to foot – feeling he should say something, but not knowing what that would be. He got the feeling the Captain knew something about him; about his meeting here with Constance.

This was his secret after all – meeting with a married woman without her husband's knowledge. He knew this might be his dangerous ally; knew this meeting today could lead to other things; hoped it would; and somehow didn't care. Would this meeting between them today – haunt him in the future?

Or maybe this was about something else. Maybe the Captain could sense the unease he had felt about his involvement with the massacre; or maybe he had somehow found out how the musketeers had tricked Bonnaire into the hands of the Spanish.

d'Artagnan wasn't sure what to think.

The Captain looked down at his feet and sighed. When he lifted his head, his eyes seemed sad to d'Artagnan.

When he spoke again, his words were careful and measured, "Let's hope that you never get caught up in a web of untruths and secrecy. It is not something I wish on a good man. I have learned it is best to be upfront with those we care for."

His thoughts seemed to turn inward, but continued with some insight, "But I do know this. Sometimes keeping a secret is unavoidable; and one can only hope the fall out does not involve life or death."

d'Artagnan nodded, thinking hard on what the Captain's words might mean; uncertain of this conversation. Was he sharing his advice as a lesson on Savoy or something else?

Trevill seemed uncomfortable also; backed away; nodded and took his leave.

As the Captain turned from him, he saw in the distance, Constance moving swiftly through the court yard to join him.

She had a smile on her face and waved to him uninhibited. She passed by the Captain and gave a brief greeting. d'Artagnan waved back happy to see her.

Treville's advice nagged at the back of his mind; but then she was there standing before him; her eyes twinkling with mischief, and his words floated away with the breeze.

He beamed a smile down on her; and was caught quickly up in her enthusiasm.

"Let's get started!" she laughed and reached her hand out for the musket.

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Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to review; as your thoughts and comments mean a great deal; and they also boost my confidence. Thank you so much to those who have already left reviews; and have chosen to favorite or follow this story. It means a lot!


	5. Chapter 5

Good Advice

By: Musketeer Adventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode, The Homecoming. The musketeers risk all to prove Porthos' innocence; only to have d'Artagnan feel remorseful about his doubts. Timely advice helps him to understand the many facets of loyalty.

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Chapter 5

d'Artagnan twisted around in his saddle to look back at the Court.

It was like looking back at an apparition; an illusion; ready to disappear once they crossed a line back into the real world.

The Court of Miracles had been a revelation to him. The Court was home for hundreds of people – men, women, and children; who Paris lived alongside without seeing. People lived here, invisible; and concealed; languishing in poverty, sickness and disease.

The misery there was palpable; but there was joy there also; joy for the everyday things that everyday people dreamed of. The Court was a place full of families; families that loved; lived and struggled to survive. These very families worked day to day for almost nothing, to push dreams on their children in the hopes they would make it out and succeed beyond these walls of depravity.

Porthos had come from here; and he had made it out. His life behind the invisible veil had shaped him into the proud musketeer he was beginning to know.

The people here were made of strong stuff – Flea especially. To be a woman of importance here took strength, courage, and intelligence. d'Artagnan could see why Porthos cared for her – perhaps even loved her.

As he watched them take their leave- he thought for a moment that Porthos might stay here; remain home with this family that had raised him. But instead, he had kissed her goodbye; turned to them and asked if there had been any doubt among them about his innocence.

When they had all looked to him – he had felt ashamed; because it was true – he had doubted. And when he tried to back track and voice his support; to say he had never doubted – Porthos had simply laughed and shouted, "Let's get the hell out of here!"

As he rode silently away from the Court; with these musketeers, d'Artagnan wondered again about their unconditional loyalty to one another. These past few days, he had seen it first hand; even from the Captain. They would do anything for each other.

Porthos had been in need; and they had not hesitated to move heaven; earth or assassins to prove his innocence. They had gone back – petitioned the king- and removed whoever and whatever stood in their way; in order to save their brother.

He frowned then – because he had hesitated; thought perhaps it could be true; that Porthos could be capable of murder; an accident maybe; but capable all the same.

Looking at the three of them now; he wondered about his own character – and how he could have entertained the idea that Porthos would take another man's life without a thought; or without remorse. Porthos – who had always seemed to him gregarious and full of good humor.

What could he do to make up for it?

They must all look to him now and find him lacking; not having what it takes to show true loyalty and brotherhood; the very qualities that defined a musketeer.

Perhaps this, and not outstanding technique or full understanding of battle field strategy would keep him from being a musketeer. Perhaps he did not have the right qualifications after all.

As Porthos, walking on foot, passed by his horse; d'Artagnan hopped down from his saddle and walked step for step with this man, through the streets of Paris to the garrison; hoping he would see it as solidarity and an apology.

This was a man who had only ever shown him kindness and respect – who was teaching him the art of hand to hand combat; and who had taught him – especially these past few days; that brotherhood without honor meant nothing.

He looked to Porthos, concentrating hard on what he might do to show him; prove to him that he had no doubts about his character and what a fine man he was; a true friend.

When their eyes connected; he saw in Porthos' gaze fondness and could not comprehend it. Porthos reached out and squeezed his neck – holding on until they reached the garrison gate and crossed over into the musketeer world.

Porthos looked at d'Artagnan hard and could tell that he had doubted his innocence – he could read his insecurities as if they were written out on paper before him. But this boy didn't really know him, did he?

And perhaps he did not fully know himself – doubt after all had crept along the edges of his senses also.

He shook his head to loose such ideas. "It is good to be home!" he bellowed instead good naturedly; although his thoughts still lingered on the Court; its people and Flea.

The stable boy approached them then to relieve them of their horses; and led them away – leaving the four standing close together.

Porthos then looked to them and placed his hands on his hips and considered the ground – "Thank you brothers. I knew you would come."

And as they embraced, d'Artagnan knew he should not be a part of the welcoming overture; but was held still by the strength of Porthos' grip around his shoulders.

The Captain then called down from the walkway with a joyful greeting; and the brotherhood of musketeers surrounded them with jovial salutations and warm handshakes. Porthos took it all in stride and waded his way through the many good wishes.

* * *

As the days and weeks after the Court of Miracles passed by, d'Artagnan began to slowly, but surely learn to know these three musketeers in equal measure.

They were all three good men, who loved each other deeply. He began to see why they were called the inseparables. They were connected in thought; unified in loyalty; and bound together by duty and service.

He would be so lucky to one day be added to their circle. This was his hope after all; to serve his King and country with these three great men.

d'Artagnan still thought on his slight those weeks ago, and had tried in good stead; to show on a daily basis his honor; loyalty; and commitment to each of the men in turn.

But still it plagued him how he could think so badly of Porthos – who it seemed had all but forgotten his misstep; treating him as he always had; nurtured his skill as a fighter; and openly shared his many adventures with hidden lessons.

So – it was with Porthos that he had worked extra hard to regain his good opinion – because deep down Porthos must now have doubts about his trueness, as he had it about himself.

Therefore he took it upon himself to be the perfect student; to be more than punctual- but early; to be the last to leave the yard at the end of the day; and to take any manner of job that no one else wanted to show he was committed to duty. Whatever Porthos asked of him, he gave it one hundred percent; and then ten more for good measure.

And so beyond training and assignments; he did not mind cleaning the stalls – wiping down the horses – or even helping Serge to clear the tables. Serge even commented one day, "Whoever it is you are trying to please; I'm all for it."

He would do anything.

So, he was happy when after a long day of training he was invited to join the three to the Wren for an evening meal and drink.

Sitting here among them, helped him to feel less alone and perhaps bode well with his campaign to make amends.

Dinner and drink was a lighthearted affair; and d'Artagnan enjoyed it. Hearing tales of daring from Aramis; watching Porthos tease the others without mercy and knowing that Athos could share such amusement warmed his spirit and gave him a sense of well-being.

This is what he wanted to be a part of.

As the evening came to a close; Athos stood to bid goodnight; and as he passed by; squeezed d'Artagnan's shoulder and held it there for a moment, until he looked up – uncertain what the comforting gesture could mean. Aramis then also bid goodnight; pulling Athos along with him.

That left him and Porthos alone at the table; with the patrons slowly dwindling; leaving out onto the street.

d'Artagnan concentrated hard on the table. Was Porthos to tell him something now; now that the others had strategically made their departure? Had he done something wrong? He searched his brain; and combed over the events of the day. There could be nothing; he had worked so hard over these past weeks to show apology for his lack of faith.

"You've done nothing wrong d'Artagnan" he heard Porthos over his tumultuous thoughts. "I only wish to speak with you alone."

d'Artagnan looked up to hear; but felt unprepared for this conversation. He had took to following Athos' example – that actions spoke louder than words; and thought his efforts as such would be taken at face value. But now he knew – he may have to speak ad wasn't sure what words would apply; that would explain how sorry he was.

"You don't have to say anything d'Artagnan; just hear me out."

Porthos could then see the tension loosen in the boy's shoulders and he plunged ahead – taking the advice of his brothers to speak with d'Artagnan and clear the air for his sake – "We have all noticed you these past weeks. I believe you are the hardest working recruit I have ever seen; harder working than me, and I worked pretty damn hard."

Porthos paused; and smiled hoping to lighten the mood. d'Artagnan only stared back with anticipation – o f what Porthos couldn't tell.

"Though it is appreciated; and your efforts have not been overlooked, there's no need to work so hard lad. Nothing you have said or done – have I taken as a slight. What happened back there; I could not tell if I were innocent myself."

d'Artagnan sat still and unmoving; unsure where this was headed.

"I count you as my brother, and to see you anguish over this causes me distress also." Porthos continued.

d'Artagnan released a breath, bowed his head; and took great notice of the bowl in front of him. This was not what he expected.

"Just be who you are; and all will turn out as it should – don't you think?"

d'Artagnan nodded his head in assent. If he had been expected to speak, the knot in his throat would have choked him.

"Well then – now that that's done – let's call it a night!"

Porthos stood; clapped him on the back; and they left the Wren together in comfortable companionship.

Stepping out into the cool air; d'Artagnan felt its breeze like a soothing balm. That Porthos thought of him as a brother made his chest swell with pride. He felt Porthos' arm heavy about his shoulders and was comforted by it.

They walked a ways – turning into an alley way that served as a short cut to the garrison; d'Artagnan's mind dwelling happily on how lucky he was.

Then suddenly, there was a change and shift in the atmosphere. Porthos shoved him quickly behind him and when he finally saw what was happening, Red Guards stood three abreast confronting them with swords drawn.

"Well, look who this is!" blared out one Red Guard, pointing his sword in Porthos' direction.

"The musketeer who gets away with murder, I believe" added another.

"You mean, this mongrel – dressed as a musketeer!" hollered the third.

d'Artagnan could not contain himself behind Porthos' protecting arm for another second, "You take it back!" he screamed, reaching to release his sword. Porthos grabbed the front of his shirt to keep him confined behind him.

"Or what will you do boy?" the guard spit out at him.

"You will let us pass; we have no quarrel with you." Porthos soothed, trying to diffuse this situation with words; while holding on to d'Artagnan. But it was to no avail.

"Not tonight musketeer!" and the Red Guard lunged forward to strike.

Before he knew what was happening, he and d'Artagnan were engaged in a battle for their lives. d'Artagnan leaped around Porthos' protective stance; and felt adrenaline rush through his body. He pulled his sword from his scabbard; the fight commenced and he was glad.

As they stood their ground – Porthos taking on two Red Guards and d'Artagnan battling with one – the air seemed to suck out of the alley way and where there was once coolness, now there was only heat and sweat.

d'Artagnan worked hard – his opponent not his match in swordsmanship; but more than his match with aggressive squalid fighting. At one point, the guard moved in close and was able to land a punch along his temple – causing him to hear bells ringing, and to see double. He could feel wetness along the cut made by the punch and redness added to his foggy vision.

By the time he got the upper hand; and thrust his sword through the arm of his opponent – who then pushed him down; and ran quickly away from the fight – Porthos had taken down one. The man lay still on the ground, unmoving. The other stood panting, staring across at Porthos, and his side red with blood. Porthos grimly stared back at him, leaning against the alley wall.

The two seemed to be weighing their options – continue the fight or leave it be for now.

Seeing d'Artagnan pick himself up off the ground and move toward them, the Red Guard backed away and made his decision; running after his fleeing comrade; and leaving the other behind.

"You cowards!" d'Artagnan screamed after them, ready to follow; knowing his speed could overtake them; but stopped in his tracks at Porthos' protest.

"No d'Artagnan, this is not a fight to continue tonight. Let's choose our battles carefully."

Porthos pushed himself from the wall, and considered his young friend – his brother; who stood by him this night and fought valiantly for his honor.

"Are you alright? Come here and let me take a look at that" he said pointing to the blood in d'Artagnan's hair; flowing down the side of his face.

d'Artagnan moved closer as Porthos beckoned him over, "I'm alright. And you; are you alright?"

"Fit as a fiddle" he chuckled; probing d'Artagnan's hair line.

When they stopped assessing each other – they smiled and laughed loudly; doubling over to catch their breaths.

"When I said to be who you are, I didn't mean to rush into battle!" he exclaimed – pride in his eyes to have seen the fire in this young man.

They stood silent for a moment; breathing hard; and sharing this occasion of fraternity.

Porthos breathed in and looked down at the Red Guard lying still in the alley; now beginning to groan with pain.

"Let us go home now before we are both arrested and need to be rescued from the Chatelet. I don't think Aramis and Athos could live through this again."

Laughing softly, they left the alley – arms intertwined over each other's shoulders; shuffling to the garrison as if drunk on the spirits of well-being.

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Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks to all of you who have already reviewed; followed and clicked the favorite button. It seems that Porthos had some more advice to give.


	6. Chapter 6

Good Advice

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode; The Exiles. After rescuing baby Henry; and journeying to re-unite mother and child; Athos has some fortuitous advice for d'Artagnan.

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Chapter 6

Athos looked across the fire and took in the sight of d'Artagnan; Constance; and the baby Henry; huddled together against the chill of the night. They seemed content; and comfortable in each other's company – oblivious to their surroundings. The three of them, in that moment seemed encased in a bubble – alone in a world of their own making.

The appearance of them together had been a near constant this past week; as Aramis' spur of the moment plan to fake the drowning death of the rightful heir had ended with his mother believing him dead; and therefore left in the care of these two young people.

They had spirited Agnes away that day; distraught; and beyond consolable. Her grief so deep; she had not protested their escape away from the bridge to her sanctuary; pliable with every request they made of her; as d'Artagnan rushed the baby away to the Bonacieux home.

Once safely away, they were determined, with Captain Treville's and Constance's help, to keep the secret of baby Henry's whereabouts – even from Agnes; lest mother and child be used to usurp power; or worst, to be killed at the hands of assassins.

It was a harsh secret; but one that they were soon to rectify.

They had left from the Bonacieux home early this morning; and their trek here to this point, camping among the trees, had been uneventful. They all now welcomed this respite around the warm flames, thinking of what lay ahead.

They were on their way to meet Agnes now. Aramis had sent word a few days ago – pleading with her to meet them on the outskirts of the small village they had settled her in.

Athos feared she may not show – blaming them for the "death" of her child. But he would leave that to Aramis – whose skill set seemed to hold the key to forgiveness from the opposite sex; no matter the offence.

He also feared that if she did show – Constance would be hard pressed to release the child; d'Artagnan too for that matter. Their attachment to the baby was obvious and cemented over their past week of enforced close proximity.

For a week, Constance had agreed to care for the baby while her husband had been away on business, with d'Artagnan her constant and willing helper.

He stoked the fire before him, thinking over the events of the past week; d'Artagnan showing up to the garrison for his morning training sessions; complaining about fitful nights of the wailing baby – he and Constance weary; and sleep deprived; trying everything they could think of to comfort the baby; who seemed to instinctively miss his mother.

He had moaned and practically begged for their advice about how to sooth the child; but the musketeers having brainstormed ideas with him; raised their hands in consternation; and finally gave up, with no advice to give – only to say that he and Constance were on their own; for they had no experience on the subject of babies.

But as the days flew past – the complaining had turned to joyful mentions of how beautiful a smile Henry had; how Henry had rolled over on his own and laughed; and how Henry loved to hear Constance sing even though she could not carry a tune. Henry had turned into the perfect baby; his crying no longer bothersome; his wet and soiled clothing – easy to change; and feeding was no longer a challenge if you knew what he liked to eat.

Watching them together now, Athos felt a tug of sympathy for their separation to come.

He watched the routine between them now and smiled slightly.

Constance cooed; smiled and held baby Henry gently while feeding him – and d'Artagnan seated beside them; encouraged him with mantras of how great an eater he was; and that he was such a strong; healthy boy. Henry giggled back at them; reaching his arms out as if to gather them close.

Athos looked back to the flames and frowned. They looked so right together – and this was a problem, he thought.

He felt his brothers' presence then – seated nearby around the fire – eating their evening meal; and wondered if they also could foresee the troubles ahead for the relationship he saw blossoming before him.

When he poked the fire again – sparks flew and sparkled; wafting up into the air; reminding him of fireflies, he and Thomas captured for good luck in their youth.

Aramis spoke then, softly over the crackle of the flames, "I have already given my advice to d'Artagnan; which I don't think he will heed."

Athos looked to him, curious, "And what advice did you give?"

Smiling widely, Aramis put down his plate and stretched his arms over his head, "Not to get involved!" He shook his head and chuckled at the audacity of his own advice.

Athos sighed, and could not help but grin, "And how is that working for you?"

Aramis was flabbergasted, "You know, he said those exact same words to me. The two of you are so alike, it's almost spooky."

Athos resumed his consummate poking of the fire and thought on that off handed comment. This was true; they were alike, and it caused him great concern. He didn't wish to see similar mistakes played out before him in d'Artagnan. He would do what he could to head them off, if it was in his power.

After some moments, Porthos chimed in, "She is married."

Aramis gave a cheeky grin and leaned forward, "But they are obviously attracted to one another. She likes him, I can tell. However, I don't think they have given much thought about the nature of their relationship."

Athos bowed his head, "This can only end badly. His heart will be broken."

The three then sat silently with each other thinking of their own loves and heartbreaks.

Aramis thought on his love at sixteen who he still pained over and who all women he met stood judged by. If events had gone as he had wished, he would be a father many times over now; living out a life far different from what he lived now.

Sometimes it was a great regret and he was only reminded when things like this happened to dredge up difficult memories of rejection and loss. Other times, it was a distant hurt; made up for, by the love of his brothers – this family.

He lay down then; and closed his eyes. He would think on it no more tonight. Instead, he would think on reuniting Agnes and Henry; and bringing joy to their lives.

Porthos thought on his passion for Flea. When he was a younger man, he had thought it love he felt; but now he knew it was excitement; heat and rapture. She had brought out the best in him; and had made him want for more outside the walls of the Court – if only to share it with her; and to see the rest of the world.

Only when he had asked her to come with him; she had chosen to stay; and he had respected that; and had not expected her to make his life hers.

He wondered sometimes, what would have happened if she had chosen him. What kind of life would he be living now?

He thought wistfully on it at times; but these men with him now – his life as a musketeer – more than made up for the what ifs.

He stretched out his long body; drew closer to the warmth of the flames; and tipped his hat over his eyes. He would think of it no more tonight. Tomorrow was a new day.

Athos continued to stare into the flames; and thought of Anne. For five years he had thought her dead; and lived his life accordingly. He had grieved intensely; and it had become like a cloak – comfortable and welcoming. He had struggled with his equilibrium since discovering her resurrected before him; burning down their past around them; and almost bringing his life to an end.

A huge part of his life that he had worked hard to bury; and keep wrapped tightly away – was beginning to unravel slowly but surely- some days, he thought he might lose his mind.

d'Artagnan knew of his revelation; but not all of it. Soon, he would have to reveal his true self to them all and was not sure if he was ready to lose this bond between them; for surely, they would not abide his unforgivable sin. But this was his family now; and he would keep it together for as long as he could.

Anne had destroyed what could have been and he had eradicated any hope at all of an optimistic future; and now the respect of his brothers was in jeopardy.

In the background of his musings, Athos could hear Constance and d'Artagnan battling over whose turn it was to rock the baby to sleep. The two whispered intently over who had the best technique and in whose arms baby Henry succumbed to sleep in the quickest.

Athos laughed to himself. Once again d'Artagnan had saved him; first from fire; and now from melancholia.

Finally, he could hear Constance giving in to him, with exasperation. He watched as d'Artagnan stood, and then walked the perimeter, rocking baby Henry smoothly and with the expertise of practice.

When he looked down again, it was to see Porthos staring at him from across the pit, "Someone should talk to him", he advised. "We agree he should prepare himself – yes? He will listen to you."

Athos nodded in assent, thinking of his own heartbreak.

* * *

Later that night, the moon shone bright and full lending a soft glow to the orange flames of the fire.

Constance lay a little distance away – with baby Henry cradled softly in her arms. Porthos and Aramis snored quietly – almost in deference to not wake a sleeping child. The baby wiggled and cooed, touching Constance's cheek as if finding a way to remember her once back with his own mother.

Athos could not sleep; and so d'Artagnan sat up with him to keep him company.

Feeling Athos' unease, d'Artagnan spoke into the night across the flaming fire, "Stop thinking so hard Athos. Constance and I have talked and though it will be hard – she is happy and ready to hand Henry back to his mother."

Athos nodded; and was glad to hear the declaration; but uncertain how to broach the more sensitive topic of he and Constance.

He didn't have to wait long.

d'Artagnan looked right across the flames into his eyes with a dream like quality and stated, "Constance will make a fine mother some day, don't you think? She is patient; gentle; and loving – everything I remember about my own mother."

Athos listened to d'Artagnan's tone and heard love in it. He grappled with his thoughts – trying to put words to how he should begin. Only the night sounds; the light snoring; and the cooing baby distracted him. Talking was not his strong suit; and it frustrated him.

"One day – if God is willing – she said; she will be a mother; but I'm not so sure Monsieur Bonacieux will be such a good father" d'Artagnan continued.

Seizing his moment here, Athos interjected, "They are married."

d'Artagnan sat straight and squinted his eyes, "Yes – so I am constantly being reminded. She is only my good friend Athos. I would do nothing to hurt her."

Sensing his young friend's coiled energy and quick to temper demeanor, he decided to change tact, "Aramis tells me that Constance has developed a talent for the sword; and easily defeated her attacker at the compound."

d'Artagnan blushed; bowed his head; and hid his face behind falling hair; but did not share their secret of weekly meetings to practice swordsmanship and musketry.

Athos noticed he had hit another nerve and decided not to push the fact that he and the others had guessed at his training with Constance.

So instead, he continued with deliberate forethought, "I only wish you to be careful."

d'Artagnan flashed a quick look of indignation; his eyes bright and ears burning. He wanted to fling back a retort; but thought to himself – be careful of what? He cared for Constance, yes. He thought of her as a wonderful and courageous woman. He wished there could be more between them – but knew it was impossible – he was not a fool.

Reading his body language, Athos quickly interjected, "I don't think you are a fool – only young."

His mind fell to Anne for the briefest of moments and how great the loss had been, and plunged ahead, "That being said, I only wish you to find happiness – for as long as it can last."

d'Artagnan's face softened and his body relaxed. He nodded at this advice; and knew how hard it was for Athos to give. Words did not come easy to him; his usual form of communication with him was to lead by example. He so admired this man, and read into his words much. They had a reflective tone that spoke of lost opportunity; a missed chance at happiness with someone he once loved perhaps.

So he nodded his thanks; and promised himself to take the advice to heart. He moved then to sit near Constance and baby Henry; looking down on them with care and vigilance.

Athos poked the fire for the hundredth time and watched d'Artagnan make his way toward Constance.

That was not what he had thought to say.

He had thought to warn him of the dangers of pursuing a married woman; and hoped to use the many harrowing exploits of their brother to point out the pit falls.

He had thought to tell him how this may not end well – Constance's reputation and livelihood were at stake.

He had thought many things – but could not bring himself to say them.

A rustling sound came to him and he could hear Porthos rolling over in the dark; and could practically feel his gaze boring into him, "That's not what I had in mind when I asked you to speak with him."

Athos looked to the moon and sighed, "Get some rest Porthos – we leave to meet Agnes at first light."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please review and tell me what you think. Once again, thanks to everyone who is following this story! Your comments and reviews mean a lot! And a big yes, to one of your questions. I am hoping that d'Artagnan will tap me on the shoulder and say – hey it's my turn to give advice!


	7. Chapter 7

Good Advice

By: Musketeer Adventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode, A Rebellious Woman. After giving up a chance for a semblance of happiness; Athos receives advice from d'Artagnan.

* * *

Chapter 7: Advice for Athos from d'Artagnan

d'Artagnan stood hidden among the trees; he was soaked through – the mist weighing thick with humidity; almost as wet as rain.

His limbs felt heavy; and he could feel a flush of heat rise up in his body until it reached his face – burning his cheeks – then making him feel light headed. The pain in his chest irritated him; and he hoped it would not turn to something worse; causing him to give away his position.

He watched silently; and shivered as wet droplets found their way down his collar; traveled beneath his cloak and shirt; then slid down his back. Water dripped singularly from strands of his hair; down the sides of his face and into his eyes – causing his vision to blur. His feet sloshed in the deepening mud; and he was miserable. But it was worth it; to keep his eyes on Athos.

He had left the inn a few miles back without the other's knowledge; disobeying an order that would allow Athos the chance to escort the Comtesse de Larroque the rest of the way out of Paris.

Aramis had tried to explain that this would give Athos the opportunity to speak plainly his feelings to her without the rest of them hovering over his every word.

Athos would be furious if he knew that he had followed him here. But he was worried; and willing to accept his wrath if found out. The only defense he could give would be that he was not yet a musketeer; and so had followed out of concern for a friend; no – more than a friend – his brother.

Because that's the way he saw the musketeers now. Porthos had extended his hand of brotherhood to him; included the others in his proposal, and so he had accepted. Therefore, now that Athos was his family; isn't this what family did? Watch over each other?

Looking around the clump of trees; he could see Athos and the Comtesse standing on the muddy road that led to the outskirts of the city.

They were standing so close to one another – he could see no space between them.

They were too far away for him to hear the conversation; but their combined body language spoke of longing and regret.

He frowned – shifting minutely as another shiver ran up his spine.

Why could Athos not see a chance at comfort; let alone happiness, when it stood so clearly before him?

When the Comtesse stood to her toes and reached up to touch Athos' face; d'Artagnan lowered his gaze to give them privacy.

He could sense that Athos felt something a kin to care for her; he had pled for her life after all. But for the life of him, he couldn't understand how someone could feel care; and he could also see attraction – but at the same time seem so unaffected; stoic; almost too neutral. Of the musketeers, he admired; and felt a connection to Athos most; but could not comprehend him.

So he turned away – somewhat ashamed to be a witness to this private moment.

He had not followed to spy – only to keep a watchful eye on his friend; watchful not just because he was worried; but that he also felt a foreboding of something truly awful lying in wait. He couldn't explain it – something terrible was going to happen; he could feel it.

And something had already happened; something that had changed Athos over the past few days; and it was not for the better.

The man who had taken him under his wing – shared his genius; and spoke to him of honor, duty and respect for the crown – had turned sullen and taciturn. Athos, already a man who used words sparingly – was now almost uncommunicative.

He had known him to be moody; and yes a loner; but never so closed off – at least not in his experience. With him, Athos had always been giving of his knowledge; understanding of his mistakes; and above all accepting of his talent and his faults. Much as his father had accepted him for who he was; so had Athos.

He had felt a slight shift in the others also. They shared a concern among themselves – with that silent method they had of communicating; that did not include him. They knew something he didn't; something from the trial they weren't yet willing to share.

What could have happened? It had to have been something monumental; drastic.

If not for the Comtesse – he feared there would have been no life in Athos at all. She alone had brought out fierceness so intense, he had actually witnessed one of the strongest men he knew, fall to his knees and bargain for her life. It had shocked him at first; but then he realized that if Athos cared for you; it was with everything he had – there was no holding back. He would follow that example now.

So, he stood as still as possible – holding tightly to the reins of his horse; rubbing his nose to keep him as quiet as he could. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest and clutched at his cloak; attempting to steady his breathing and his heartbeat.

What was wrong with him? Not two hours ago, he had felt fine – nothing to warrant this sudden outbreak of lightness; pain and shortness of breath. Was it the weather? Could he be coming down with something?

He pushed his damp hair away from his face and forced himself to focus. He squeezed his eyes shut; and when he opened them he scanned the area to see Athos watching the Comtesse ride away in her open carriage; looking back to take in her last sight of him.

d'Artagnan scowled – watching Athos look after the carriage until it was out of view. So, he had let her go; just like that- even though it was obvious they could have given each other solace. He thought then of Constance; and vowed that he would take his chance with her – declare his feelings; have some happiness for as long as it could last. He promised himself – the next time he saw her, he would tell her he loved her.

He squeezed his eyes shut once again to stave off a wave of dizziness- and when he opened his eyes again; standing in front of him was Athos with a curious look on his face.

d'Artagnan couldn't believe it! He had not heard a sound – no approach; not a twig or branch or even a rustle of leaves; but there he stood waiting for an explanation no doubt. But instead of waiting for d'Artagnan to speak; he only tilted his head and turned away; expecting without direction, d'Artagnan to follow him out of the trees.

d'Artagnan wanted to kick himself for being so careless – he had meant to watch his back with quiet stealth; for Athos to be none the wiser. Well, this was a disaster. How was he to explain his gut feeling of impending danger, when he could not even articulate it to himself?

He pulled his horse along and followed Athos out onto the road. Once there, Athos climbed into his saddle; looked down at d'Artagnan and suggested, "Let us ride back now to the inn."

d'Artagnan was incredulous! It would seem that Athos had known all along he watched from the wood. At that moment he felt incredibly stupid and inexperienced.

As he reached his foot to the stir up; to seat his saddle however, he felt the earth tilt sideways and fell against his horse. He shook his head to right the world; and tried again – but got the same results. His horse stamped a hoof with concern and nipped at his ear.

Athos reached over and took his reins, "Are you alright?" he asked; knowing that d'Artagnan had spent the past two hours following him and hiding among the trees – in weather that was not ideal. He would give d'Artagnan high marks for tenacity if not covertness.

d'Artagnan admitted reluctantly, "I don't feel so well."

Athos reached his hand down to him, "Climb up and ride with me", he offered.

d'Artagnan took his hand and swung his leg up as Athos pulled him up with little effort to sit behind him. Feeling woozy; he held Athos' waist tight and placed his forehead at his back to steady the spinning world around him. "Hold on", he heard Athos say; and he grabbed on tighter.

As they rode along – the damp mist began to dissipate; but the sky remained a gray hue – with rain looking to threaten.

d'Artagnan gathered his wits about him; sat straighter at Athos' back; and racked his brain on how he was to explain his disobedience. Athos had not broached the subject and d'Artagnan assumed him to be disappointed.

"I only wished to be sure you were alright", he began. "I thought you seemed troubled; and knew something had happened at the trial; and only wanted to be here to help if anything should surprise you on the road." d'Artagnan knew how lame he sounded; but could think of no other way to explain his apprehension.

Athos listened intently and could hear the worry and trepidation behind d'Artagnan's attempt to explain why he had followed when given explicit direction to wait at the inn. But Athos already knew how concerned d'Artagnan was about him; he had felt his weighted looks since pulling the Comtesse from the flames, and then throughout their journey of escorting her to the inn.

He had felt him still – as the boy had followed him quietly along the road; and waited in the trees. He had done well, as far as shadowing went; but lately he had begun to feel a sense of d'Artagnan- the way he did with Aramis and Porthos; and no amount of stealth could be hidden when it came to his brothers. They were as one; and now it seemed d'Artagnan had joined the ranks.

However, that did not negate the fact, that he had disobeyed a direct order.

Just as he was about to say something to that effect, he heard d'Artagnan rambling on and felt him tremble at his back; and concern began to override his annoyance at being followed.

And as he came back from his own musings; d'Artagnan was still defending his actions and he tuned in to catch the tail end of his argument, "Don't be upset; the others don't know I'm here; I only…."

Athos cut him off – "I'm not upset d'Artagnan", effectively ending his nervous tirade.

He would let it go for now. d'Artagnan's reasoning was clear to him; but would not do if he were to gain his commission. This impulsivity of his would one day get the better of him, if he did not get it under control. He saw it as his duty; to see this young man fulfill his dream of becoming a musketeer. There was a potential for greatness here; and he wanted to be a witness to it.

But seeing Anne at the Monastery posing as Madame de la Chappelle, had thrown him off; just as she had jolted him back in Pinon. Ninon warned him that she worked under the protection of the Cardinal; and had almost succeeded in her goal of having her burned alive. That in their five years apart, his wife had become a hardened assassin did little for his state of mind; and he knew d'Artagnan could sense this in him.

How was he to share with his brothers that the wife he had sentenced to hang; had come back from the dead, and now posed a threat to them all?

d'Artagnan heard Athos say that he wasn't upset; but felt something altogether different. The man seemed tense to him; and though he may not be upset with him, he was clearly perturbed that d'Artagnan chose to follow his own direction and not follow orders. Athos had talked to him about this on several occasions; his impulsivity getting in the way – but he couldn't help it. This seemed to be the one area he would probably need a lifetime of work on.

Though he tried to follow Athos' example in every way; it seemed that in this way – he could not be like him. It seemed he was incapable of remaining calm when faced with injustice; dire straits and concern for his friends.

But whatever it took; he would do it – to make this man proud of him; to be the musketeer Athos expected.

He shivered again for the hundredth time; but this time it racked his body so hard – he had to grab onto Athos to keep from falling from the saddle. He felt Athos grab his leg and hold tight. It seemed to keep him still, and put him at ease. He took a deep breath nodding into his back that he was okay.

As they made their way steadily along the road – Athos could see up ahead the small inn – with lanterns ablaze welcoming itself as a safe haven for weary travelers.

By now, he knew the others would have noticed d'Artagnan's absence and attributed it to just what it was – his anxiety leading him to follow. They would be waiting; ready to hear what not only transpired between himself and the Comtesse; but also with d'Artagnan.

But suddenly he felt d'Artagnan's arms leave from his waist and fall to the sides; his weight then leaned heavily onto his back. Startled, he let go one hand from his reins; reached back and caught onto him before he could slide sideways from the horse. d'Artagnan's mount drew in close, as if to catch him also; and together they were able to keep him astride.

"d'Artagnan!" he called urgently; but received no answer and continued the few feet to the front of the inn. And as he had predicted, there stood Aramis and Porthos waiting for their arrival; and then moving toward them as they approached.

Aramis, sensing something amiss, rushed to the side of the mount. When he looked up into Athos' eyes he was alarmed to see fear. "What has happened?"

Athos was stunned by this turn of events. d'Artagnan had just been holding to him tightly, "When we set off, he could not mount. He only released me moments ago."

Porthos then appeared; reached up and began to slide d'Artagnan down from the saddle, and place him over his shoulder, "Let's get him inside." In that moment the stable boy came running and took the horses away to be cared for; d'Artagnan's horse chafing at the bit, worried for his rider.

Halfway to the entrance of the inn, d'Artagnan regained some of his senses and felt himself in a precarious position; his head upside down bouncing into someone's back; blood rushing in his ears, causing him to feel nauseous. Uncertain of what was happening; he called out "What's going on?"

He heard and felt Porthos' reply rumble through his back, "Be still d'Artagnan."

Not one to be carried, d'Artagnan wiggled and squirmed, "Put me down Porthos, I can walk."

To his side, he heard Athos sigh deeply, "Follow this order d'Artagnan and be still." And so he reluctantly stilled his body; and allowed himself to be carried to their lodgings, and once in the room to be placed neatly in a chair.

Aramis then descended on him; feeling his neck and head for warmness or perhaps a lump that would explain unconsciousness. He frowned and then lifted d'Artagnan face to look into his eyes and noted that they seemed wide to him; pupils as big as saucers – but there was no lump to indicate a head injury.

And then d'Artagnan started talking about how sorry he was that he had left without saying anything; and how he was only worried…..but the words faded into the background, and Aramis only wanted to know what had caused such a sudden black out.

Athos was no help; appearing shell shocked and worried – talking over d'Artagnan's tirade of apologies to report that d'Artagnan had been unable to take his saddle; had seemed dizzy and said that he did not feel well. Between the two of them – and Aramis trying to get answers, the chaos of noise was deafening.

Porthos then raised his hands in the air to signal everyone to stop talking. The room went silent; and d'Artagnan put his head down on the table in front of him; groaned; and then shivered so hard he could not catch his breath.

Aramis leaned down; grabbed him by the shoulders and realization dawned on him. He sniffed in a breath and could smell the subtle odor of the very poison they had only recently rid the Cardinal of. Only he had no castor oil or mustard.

Aramis looked to his friends, "This is poison. How is it possible?"

Athos thought back; and remembered their discovery of the poison oil in Father Sestini's bag. "He touched the damp pages- remember? But he washed his hands, I was sure to tell him to wash his hands!"

"Be calm Athos. It is of no consequence now. We need a physician; and some salt – quickly."

Athos nodded then and left the room to find someone who could help him locate a physician.

d'Artagnan felt the room spinning around him; and only wanted to lay his head back down on the table. He felt heat flush through his body; and the shivers attack him once again.

Aramis turned to Pothos, "Help me to remove these wet clothes and get him to bed; and then find us some salt and plenty of water to drink."

Porthos nodded his assent; and as he moved to assist, d'Artagnan lifted his hands to ward his friends off, "Poison you say?" Aramis looked down at him and nodded, "You must have a mild case; and if we move quickly will probably stave this off and you will be right as rain soon enough."

d'Artagnan looked down at his hands and tried to concentrate on what Aramis was telling him; had not the Cardinal almost died of this? He looked back up into Aramis eyes and knew that he trusted this man with not only his health, but with his life.

"I can remove my own things thank you" he said then, and began to slowly undress; even as panic filled his senses. Aramis had spoken with an assured tone; but perhaps that was only for his benefit. Was he going to die? Suddenly his hands began to shake, and removing his vest became almost impossible.

Porthos moved toward him them, pushing his hands down gently and taking over with a calm nature and paternal instinct. d'Artagnan let go of his pride and let him do it.

After a while, he found himself undressed and placed under the covers of the only pallet in the room; his clothes laid out to dry before the fire.

Aramis had dried his hair and skin with a rough towel which helpfully stilled some of his shivers; but did nothing for the rotating of the room; the pounding in is head; and the shortness of his breath.

Porthos had left to find salt and drinking water; and Aramis had taken up sentry by his side, "You are not going to die d'Artagnan. I can tell that's what you are thinking. Your symptoms don't seem as dire as was the Cardinal's and he survived; and so shall you. Athos will be here with a physician soon enough."

d'Artagnan moaned and turned on his side. If this was not dire, then what was, he thought? He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to tune everything out.

Then suddenly the door careened open and Porthos rushed in with a pitcher of water and a container of salt banging it on the bedside stand; looking to Aramis for direction.

Aramis stood, and grinned widely, "Thank you Porthos. We now get him to drink a mixture of water and salt every so often and hope he will expel what poison is left in him." And so Porthos took up a cup; added some salt and then water. He then sat on the side of the bed and beckoned d'Artagnan to take the cup and drink.

d'Artagnan turned over and squinted at his friends – took the cup and drank the salty mix grimacing behind the unwelcome taste. "Good then," Aramis exclaimed. "Now rest, we will give you more to drink later. Your stomach may get upset, but that's what we want."

d'Artagnan nodded and fell back to rest. Some minutes later he was aroused again to drink; where upon he gagged and swiped at his mouth with annoyance before told to rest again. This went on for several more occasions until without warning d'Artagnan felt his stomach roll and lurch. He quickly sat up and leaned to the side; where Aramis waited for him with a small bucket. Clawing up his throat turned up his last meal; and more.

He could feel the strength of Porthos arms holding him up as he expelled the last of it; and was gently then laid back down to rest. The room began to spin more swiftly and his headache ratcheted up a notch; his mouth felt like cotton – and he thought he would choke. "Now just water", he heard Aramis say, and a cup appeared at his lips. He drank greedily as Porthos held him up; trying to catch his breath between gulps.

Then Athos entered with the physician; his face anxious as he took in the scene before him.

"I am Dr. Faison", the man of short, stocky stature announced as he strode into the room. "I understand we have a victim of poison." He did not wait for niceties and made his way to the bed where d'Artagnan lay gasping for air. He then set about his examination quickly and eyed the salt and water on the table stand. "Well done", he nodded to them, "this will bring up what poison is left."

He then reached in his bag and brought out some items. "Here is some linseed tea to have him drink after he has done expelling. The laudanum is for the cramping."

He looked around at the three men before him; and then down at d'Artagnan. "I know you feel in poor health now young man, but you will improve. This is a mild case; and you are very lucky."

d'Artagnan nodded up at this brisk little man; and trusted his judgment; as Aramis had practically told him the same thing. He then curled to his side and shut his eyes to the room.

Dr. Faison patted d'Artagnan on the back and stood to face the musketeers, "I will wait here in the inn until morning if you need me. It will be a long night for your friend. Keep up your salt mixture; ply him with as much tea and clear water as you can – you should see some improvement by tomorrow."

* * *

And so the routine began, with each musketeer taking turns to encourage d'Artagnan to drink; one to hold him still over the bucket; while the other cleaned him up after such bouts.

After a while d'Artagnan became so weak he could no longer hold the cup to his own lips; or roll over on his own – the three doing all the work for him. The cramps to his abdomen then became so painful - Aramis finally forced the laudanum on him, over his weakening protests.

Now here in the very early hours of the morning – the worst of it seeming to have past – Athos sat quietly in the chair at d'Artagnan's side watching him breathe easier; his brow now smooth of pain; and the shivering all but absent.

These past hours had frightened him. He had not seen d'Artagnan this sick before; and it shook him to the core. What would he do if something happened to this boy? Already his foundation had been rocked with the appearance of his wife; and with the departure of the Comtesse. He suddenly realized how much d'Artagnan kept him on an even keel.

He looked around the small room and took in the sight of his brothers, both sleeping on the floor in front of the fireplace. The physician had been in earlier; and declared d'Artagnan on the mend. They had all breathed a sigh of relief; but while the others let exhaustion overtake them, Athos could not rest.

He had such a grim and dire secret – that he had held close for so long – how was he now to tell it; and not lose their respect? That d'Artagnan already knew part of it; only made him feel only more dismal. Once he learned the whole truth of it; would he wish nothing to do with him?

d'Artagnan opened his eyes slowly and took in the scene before him. Sitting next to him was Athos, with his head bowed; concentrating on folded hands lying in his lap. It took great effort on his part; but he deliberately evened out his breathing; and kept his body still and relaxed; wanting to gauge his friend's state of mind without his knowledge. He watched Athos solemnly and could feel an apprehensive wave crashing toward him. He felt better – so knew this was something else.

Then, there was a hand on his chest; and when d'Artagnan looked up, Athos was speaking to him, "No need to worry d'Artagnan, all is well."

d'Artagnan laughed softly, "It seems I cannot hide from your scrutiny; whether it be from the trees; or here feigned in sleep ."

Athos laughed quietly along with him, "Nor can I from yours."

d'Artagnan then grabbed his hand; squeezed tightly and looked up imploring, " Was it not you who advised me to find happiness; and to keep it for as long as I could?"

Athos nodded and searched d'Artagnan's gaze – hoping this conversation would not lead to things he wasn't ready to discuss.

"Well I find that I am happiest when my friends are happy, so, I turn that advice back to you Athos. I want to help you; I want you to want me to help you", he chuckled then at how inane that sounded; and watched as Athos lifted his eyebrow with some humor.

"It's just that I feel something terrible is going to happen; and that it involves all of us – especially you. Please don't dismiss it."

Athos thought on this and wondered about their connection. He removed his hand from d'Artagnan's grip and smoothed his hair back from his face, "Your advice is welcome d'Artagnan and I will not dismiss it. I feel it too."

In that moment Aramis and Porthos stirred from their positions complaining of hungry stomachs and aching bones from sleeping on the floor.

Athos stepped away from the pallet and announced, "Then I'll go and get us all something to eat."

As he stepped from the room, Aramis moved to d'Artagnan's side to check on him; and Porthos followed Athos into the hall – catching and holding onto his shoulder, preventing him from escaping his entreaty.

"He speaks for all of us you know. We all want to help; but can't if you won't tell us what's going on. Who was that woman at the trial? Who is she to you?" Porthos squeezed his shoulder tight, waiting for an answer.

Athos thought on the request and answered with care, "As I told the Comtesse, I have deep secrets Porthos; some that may change how you see me. Allow me to keep them to myself, just a little while longer."

Porthos looked and saw the sincerity in Athos' eyes; and released him. Alright then, he sighed, another day.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope d'Artagnan's advice didn't get too lost in there! Please review and let me know what you think – your thoughts mean a great deal! And that impromptu cure for poison? Only in my imagination!


	8. Chapter 8

Good Advice

By MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episode, The Challenge. The manhunt and subsequent capture of Regional Intendant, Martin LeBarge is fraught with peril and risk; triggering Captain Treville to give Athos some introspective advice.

* * *

Chapter 8: Advice from Captain Treville to Athos

Captain Treville stood on the walkway outside his office leaning against the rail. He watched his garrison teaming with the life blood of over a hundred men; their energy and vigor pounding with the heartbeat of France.

The midday sun was high and pressed down on the yard with glaring heat; causing some to seek shade under archways or water from the well and troughs. He wiped his brow and felt the effects himself.

Most of the men braved the unusual steamy weather with little complaint; their bodies used to acclimating to all temperatures. This spring the heat had come early; but no one begrudged it. Instead everyone seemed to go about the routine of the day with drive and vitality.

The sounds of activity gave him comfort; and he looked upon these men with pride. This time of day; the noise surrounding him had the feel of a symphony; the rhythms all in sync; and in time with the routine rituals that gave him a sense of peace and belonging.

The clanking of swords – the grunting of men pushing the limits of their bodies with hand to hand combat and the staccato of reverberation coming from the shooting range was music to his ears and he smiled; thinking - there was no place he would rather be. This was his life; these men his family and he loved it.

As he looked out on the yard; his chest swelled with the satisfaction that these men – these musketeers were the prize military unit of his Majesty. In his mind – there was no better contingent of men. The Cardinal's Red Guard could not hold a candle to the talent; loyalty and honor of his Majesty's Musketeers.

His eyes swept over the area below and took in the sight of Porthos who easily held a raw recruit at arm's length; laughed and then brought him to ground – explaining readily the poor man's mistakes and giving him tips on how to improve. The others, watching in a tight circle; nodding their heads in understanding; and pointing in amazement – were eager and keen to gain his prowess as a first rate fighter. Porthos, then, encouraged them to try the move themselves under his observant gaze and strict instruction.

Treville nodded with approval. He should not have favorites; but Porthos was his best at hand to hand and close proximity fighting. These men could have no better teacher; and there was no finer a musketeer.

Truth be told – he thought much of Porthos that had nothing to do with soldiering. He was a good man, who had fought against much prejudice; and more than earned his way among them; who had garnered his respect and more.

He knew much of Porthos; more than the man knew of himself; and understood that being a musketeer was his life line.

He continued to scan the area and there some distance away, Aramis showed off his pristine skill as a marksman with little or no effort; the bulls eye a mere formality. Aramis was his best shooter by far.

From where he stood he could see the exchange of coin going from musketeer pockets to Aramis' hat – where obviously each shot scored, earned a livre.

He chuckled to himself and sighed, Aramis could charm a snake from his basket without the flute. His easy way with the men was a huge advantage; and his musketry – an art form. And as he displayed now for coin – he could shoot straight over his shoulder; under his leg; behind his back and with his eyes closed – and inevitably hit his target.

The man rarely missed; and if he did it was not by much.

The men gathered around him now – and smiled as they handed over their money. No one else but Aramis could lighten a man's pockets without receiving malice in return – only good natured ribbing – and blaming themselves for being conned into betting away hard earned salaries.

He was an enigma; a man who loved God, and in equal measure loved women; soldiering and his brothers.

His skill as a medic on the battlefield had come in handy on many occasions; and he encouraged the man to continue to learn all he could. It was a gift he thought, to be able to heal and to love and to pray. He was lucky to have him; and glad that their relationship was moving back to solid ground.

He turned then to look directly down below and there stood his most accomplished swordsman. There was no doubt that Athos was a genius with rapier and sword; no other was his equal. He moved smooth as glass; his technique flawless; and his temperament, even and cool. The Captain of the Red Guard, Trudeau, spent many hours plotting ways to bring him down or to show him up. His scheming always amounted to his own humiliation.

Before him now stood several recruits and seasoned musketeers, eyes glued to his presence – watching him now intently – his instruction this day on the importance of footwork.

His advance showed quick; his retreat steady with no slide; and his lunge and passes were artful; without strain. It was as if he were dancing.

He noticed the recruits – including the young Gascon – sigh and moan in defeat before they even got started; but slowly they followed the dance of their teacher – and Treville was pleased with what he saw. The young usually wished only to spar and forgot the importance of footwork – but with Athos their enthusiasm shown bright and they all worked hard to do well in his eyes.

Athos did not see it; but he was a fine leader of men – one who led by example with honor and distinction. If he chose it, one day he could be Captain of the Musketeers; something he thought of often when it came time for him to step away.

He then focused on d'Artagnan and saw what Athos had been trying to impart to him for weeks now – the natural gift was there; he had seen it often. Though he seemed a bit uncertain, he gave a grace to the steps the others did not. He could see the boy's progress, and that Athos was putting much into his training – above and beyond the others.

He lowered his head and frowned a little; then watched Athos hone his attentions onto d'Artagnan. Of all people, he knew the dangers of having favorites. But the others did not notice; as he hoped no one noticed his chosen best.

Suddenly he was startled from his thoughts by the ringing of the noon day bell – signaling a stop for all to break and eat.

Athos stood back from his group of students; raised his hand and called them to a halt. Treville smiled as they all stood tall at attention and tapped their rapiers on their thighs out of respect for his knowledge. It never got old – seeing a flush of red crawl up Athos' neck out of embarrassment. The man never could accept a compliment.

Treville bowed his head in contentment and turned to take his meal in his office – feeling gratified at this moment – that all was right with his world.

* * *

As the three inseparables took their seats to eat at their usual table – Serge placed the meal before them and added an extra plate for the young d'Artagnan. He watched the young man, still in the yard talking with the other men of his age.

Lately, he had begun to worry about d'Artagnan – noticing that he had seemed quiet and not as jovial. Something was on that boy's mind – so much so that at meal times he ate sparingly and took to walking about, sitting alone or retreating to the stables. It could be symptoms of love – but he sensed something more.

Just as he saw him break away from the group – he called out, "d'Artagnan, come and have the meal", and gestured to the empty space at the table of the three musketeers.

Athos looked up then; caught the concern in Serge's request and added his own voice, "Yes, come sit here with us."

d'Artagnan looked about to refuse – but Porthos bellowed out, "We will not take no for an answer today – come and sit."

As d'Artagnan took the offered seat, Serge pushed the plate of food in front of him, "I will see you eat it all today" he chastised and left to serve others.

d'Artagnan glared after him; and studied the plate before him. When he looked up, three sets of eyes were watching him intently. He quickly lowered his gaze and began the task of eating his meal.

"What is Serge going on about d'Artagnan, are you not eating?" Aramis queried.

"Don't be ridiculous Aramis", d'Artagnan parried, "of course I'm eating – see?" He smiled winningly at Aramis, as he held up his fork with a skewered potato and then popped it in his mouth.

They all stared at him closely; and seeing he was not going to elaborate began their own meals with relish. After a time, Athos noticed that d'Artagnan pushed his food around the plate, more than he put in his mouth and asked, "Will you share what bothers you?"

d'Artagnan sighed in resignation, and placed his fork on the table; wary to share his troubles, "There's nothing you can do." The others stopped eating as well and pushed their plates aside, giving their full attention. "Let us be the judge", Porthos countered.

d'Artagnan wasn't sure he wanted to burden these men with his problems- fearing they would see him as childish; but they had taken him in, called him little brother; and treated him like a musketeer, even though he was not one. And there was the crux of it. Would it ever happen? Would he ever become a musketeer? Things needed to resolve themselves soon.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let it out – "I have not heard from my father's farm in some weeks now, and have not received my income. I have sent letters to my father's manager, but have heard nothing. I am behind in the rent and Monsieur Bonacieux is not a patient man. If not for Constance, I would be out on my ear! If I do not receive a commission soon – I must go home and make a living."

He opened his eyes then to see them all look at him with sorrowful expressions.

"I don't want your pity" – he began; but was interrupted by Athos. "Why didn't you say something? If it's money you need….."

And just as he was offering to help – a commotion of noise and urgency made its way into the garrison gate and yard – bringing with it swirls of dust and rock.

Everyone then turned to see a wagon race in swiftly with Sebastien leading the charge in on his horse. He looked wild and frantic – bounding from his mount before coming to a complete stop.

The wagon swerved in, sliding to a halt; almost careening on its side – Eugene screaming for help; blood spilling down the side of his face.

Musketeers raced to the wagon from all sides of the garrison, reaching for the horses – steading Sebastien who pulled from their grasps, begging them to help the others as he raced for the stairs leading to Treville's office.

Hearing the commotion – Treville appeared on the walkway, all semblance of contentment now gone from his countenance – beckoning Sebastien to make haste and calling for the physician to assist the men in the wagon and yelling for them to be taken to the infirmary.

Athos rushed behind Sebastien, following him up and into the office with Treville.

Porthos and Aramis left the table to see to the men in the wagon; along with a wave of agitated musketeers. When they reached the wagon – Eugene looked to them all – the sea of musketeers – his eyes wide with shock, "I fear they may be dead", his voice cracked. His eyes then rolled up to show the whites; he slumped over and passed out.

Aramis leaped to the seat and held him up – calling for others to help bring him down and to the infirmary.

Porthos and a few others entered the back of the wagon and saw right away that what Eugene feared was so – Fransez and Nolwenn were dead.

d'Artagnan and a few of the other young recruits stood still; feet rooted in their places; this experience new and unwelcome. The day had started as usual, but now there was a distinct feel of unease and heightened guardedness. Two musketeers were dead.

* * *

Athos stood quietly across from his Captain, who sat at his desk with his head in his hands – devastated; two musketeers dead by the hand of one man, with going by Sebastien's report, had the strength of four.

Treville sat perfectly still, only his thoughts moving a thousand miles an hour; quick and hard to grasp. Just a few hours ago, he had been content, proud of his musketeers; filled with open admiration of good men whose sole aim was to serve France and her King. Now - two of these good men were gone – murdered. Their families; friends; and the letters he would have to write – all strewn about in his mind; causing his head and his heart to hurt.

Treville could not fathom it. He had sent out four musketeers to bring in one man – and now two were dead. Rationally he knew that these men – soldiers – risked their lives on every mission he sent them out on; but this was unexpected and caught him off guard. He had sent them to arrest and transport back to Paris, Martin LaBarge, a Regional Intendant, for embezzlement of taxes against the citizens of Gascony. He had sent them to bring back a Regional Intendant – not a cold blooded killer.

He had no sense at the time that he was sending four men to their possible deaths.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking back on how Sebastien had been so stoic, almost calm as he recounted what took place.

They had been able to find LaBarge in the township of Libourne. Intelligence from neighboring villages had reported that LaBarge was not only embezzling funds – but had burned several farms and properties in an attempt to intimidate the people of Gascony into paying more taxes in order for him to line his own pockets.

When they had cornered him in an inn; announced the charges against him; and attempted to arrest him, they had underestimated his strength and determination not to be captured. LaBarge had stabbed Fransez and Nolwenn, with thrusts to their guts – rendering them helpless; and beat Eugene almost to death with his bare hands.

Sebastien looked to his Captain then, the pretense of detachment gone; tears flooded his eyes; and he begged for forgiveness. He broke down then and collapsed to the floor. He had lain down his sword and let the man escape.

Treville would never forget his broken plea, "Who else would bring my brothers home?"

Treville then had reached for Sebastien, and pulled him to his feet, "The fault is not yours", he assured, "It lies with me."

He had led Sebastien out then to the infirmary – his hands firmly grasping his shoulders – to sit with him as they heard the physician's report on Eugene and his injuries; which he would survive; but his mind, the physician was not so sure.

That was hours ago; and now he still sat here weary with Athos watching him; his eyes flashing with sympathy and rage for the loss of their brothers.

When he looked up at his second; he knew then, he would send his chosen best to retrieve this Martin LaBage.

* * *

And so as days passed into weeks – word of LaBarge's whereabouts were elusive.

Treville had sent out scouts and spies to determine his location; to see if he still remained in Gascony or had moved on – perhaps had even left France. He gave each man he sent out instruction, not to engage this man; as he was a dangerous adversary; and should not be approached alone.

Daily he worried over his men's festering rage; wanting justice for Fransez and Nolwenn. He wanted it too – Sebastien's haunted look – following him nightly in his dreams; driving him to push his scouts to find LeBarge at all costs.

The musketeers went about their daily routines; rotations; assignments and chores – outwardly as if nothing had changed, but inside they all simmered with revenge burning beneath their everyday countenance.

d'Artagnan noticed and could feel the change – everyone was more precise with training; on edge; and whispering among themselves; and wanted to know, who would be the ones sent to retrieve the killer of musketeers.

And then the day came when Treville called in the inseparables, and everyone knew – LaBarge must have been found; and the Captain was sending his chosen best. d'Artagnan sat below at the table and hoped against hope that he would be asked to go as well. The fiasco with Vadim still plagued him; and he wished to prove his worth to the Captain and to his fellow musketeers.

In his office, Treville paced before his musketeers, detailing the scouts' report. LaBarge had last been seen making his way to the harbor town of Soulac; to find the ship Endeavor that would transport him to Spain. The Endeavor would be docked and ready to leave the port in two days' time.

It would be hard travel; with little time to stop for rest; and once they reached Soulac, trapping LaBarge would be the real challenge; and to bring him to Paris, another.

It seemed that his strength and now horrific deeds were spreading across the countryside like wild fire; so rapidly that he was becoming the stuff of villainous legend. According to his last scout; the citizens of Gascony wanted him caught and hanged.

He looked to his three and took a deep breath, "I am counting on you to bring him in and to come home safely. You leave in the morning."

As Porthos and Aramis left to prepare for the journey, Athos held back and closed the door to speak privately. Treville raised an eyebrow and took his seat curious as to how Athos' would explain his need for d'Artagnanon on this mission. This had become a standing ritual between them now before each excursion; hearing out Athos' reasons for adding a fourth to his party.

Athos stood in front of him, twirling his hat; the only sign that he was nervous, "We would have d'Artagnan join us on this mission." His voice confident; belying no such unease – but Treville knew him well.

Treville nodded and spoke carefully, "I have noticed you have taken a great deal of supervision with regard to d'Artagnan's training. Do you think him ready for this, after your concerns with Vadim? Two musketeers have already been killed by this man's hand."

Athos winced at the mention of Vadim, remembering how close they came to losing him; but forged ahead, "I believe he would be a valuable asset on this mission. His knowledge of the language; the people; and the terrain will be very useful."

Treville paused and thought how to voice his concern with Athos when it came to d'Artagnan.

"We go through this for almost every mission Athos. But this time, I feel a sense of urgency from you. You seem to have taken to d'Artagnan – more so than any of the other recruits."

Athos bowed his head to hide his annoyance, "I have taken to him, because he is the best of them; and I believe he will be the one to gain his commission before the others."

Treville heard the tone in Athos' voice; and inwardly smiled, but on the surface he was worried not only for d'Artagnan, but this man in front of him. "I want to caution you Athos. d'Artagnan may not get his commission. He has yet to catch the eye of the King. Many a good recruit have not been favored."

"However, I believe he will. Sooner or later the King will see his talent; his worth; value and loyalty as I do. But he won't see it unless he is allowed to show it. Once again, I say; we would have d'Artagnan join us."

Treville thought hard on this. Ever since the mission with Vadim; he was careful how he used d'Artagnan. If something were to happen to him; Athos would not recover; and he would not forgive himself.

"Think on this Athos. He has become your favorite; not only as a recruit, but I see he has become your brother. Be careful that this doesn't cloud your reason when it comes to him."

Athos looked to him then; solemn and with deep understanding, "As it clouds yours?"

"Touché Athos." Treville smiled outwardly then, and stood before his second; not caring at this moment if true affection showed in his eyes, "It is painful to send you three out and know that you may not come back; but I do it any way; this is what we do, we are soldiers. And, I know I should not have favorites, but I cannot help myself. You all have worn me down."

"We would have d'Artagnan join us Captain – do we have your permission?"

Treville sighed and took his seat, "Yes – I will not stand in his way. But know this Athos, I see great potential in d'Artagnan also; but he must be alive to attain it. Come home safely."

With that Athos turned and left the office to find d'Artagnan waiting below.

"I can go?" he asked, anxious to prove himself.

Athos nodded his assent, and d'Artagnan raced off to prepare himself for the journey.

* * *

The trek to Soulac proved a hard ride, but uneventful. The weather held up as warm and sunny by day; and cool and crisp by night. They only stopped to feed and rest the horses; and to take care of their needs.

The rolling hills helped to keep the ride smooth and steady; the beauty of the sun flowered landscape lost on the riders. d'Artagnan's knowledge of the area kept them on the correct roads to their journey's end.

They ate bread and drank from their water skins in the saddle and pressed on – determined to find LaBarge before he set sail on the Endeavor. Their minds replaying over and over, the terrible damage he had inflicted on the musketeers; and the reported chaos he rained down over Gascony.

d'Artagnan thought briefly on Lupiac; but had heard no report that suggested that all wasn't well in his home township.

Along the way the musketeers and d'Artagnan were single-minded and thought of nothing but Fransez and Nolwenn; their bloodied bodies, laying still on the back of a dusty wagon; of Sebastien who could not sleep – tortured over throwing down his weapon; and Euegene, who had so many injuries; it would take if not weeks – perhaps months for him to recover- never to be the same Eugene – who only spoke now of his two brothers, he could not ride fast enough to save.

So they spoke little, and kept focused on the task at hand.

When they finally reached their destination, the sun was beginning to set and gave the ocean a red hue, reminding them of what they had come to Soulac to do.

As they moved through the heart of the harbor town; though night was beginning to fall, it was teaming with energy and full of people looking to either enter France anew or leave the old behind. When they looked to the wharf, there stood the Endeavor in the harbor ready to depart in the morning. They had made it just in time.

They left their horses at a stable – rented a room, then took to the streets – asking questions; searching faces, looking to see who matched the description reported to them, and witnessed by citizens terrorized by his atrocities.

d'Artagnan's fluency of the Gascon dialect helped with asking questions and paying coin to whomever they thought could lead them to LaBarge.

One such man knew exactly who they spoke of and pointed to the Endeavor – saying, "That devil sits on her now – there at the bow." He pointed and spit to the ground, turning away from the sight; and refusing the money offered for his help.

When they looked to the bow- there stood a man as big as Porthos – staring out on the ocean without a care- thinking he could leave France and make his way to a new life in Spain; and never again consider the musketeers he slaughtered.

The three musketeers and d'Artagnan huddled together; and decided the best way to capture LaBarge would be to take him on the ship – disarm; surround and them bring him down physically. The size of the man was impressive. It was agreed, that it would take them all to fell him.

And so they boarded the ship; four abreast, walking toward LaBarge as one; step for step in unison. When they stood before him – he looked up in amusement at their show of force and solidarity.

"What can I do for you?" He addressed them with laughter in his voice; rankling d'Artagnan and causing his temper to rise. Aramis sensing this grabbed his shoulder and clapped it with reassurance.

Athos' voice then washed coolly over the bow, "I am Athos of the King's Musketeers, and you are here by charged with the murders of two musketeers. We are here to take you back to Paris to be punished for your crimes. Do you surrender sir?"

LaBarge stood to his full height and laughed heartily – gazing at each of them in turn, his sight focusing then on d'Artagnan. "So, are the musketeers now sending children to do their dirty work?"

d'Artagnan bristled with the taunt and made to move forward to confront the man, when he unsheathed his sword charging at them all.

Athos pushed d'Artagnan back and deflected the strike with ease – gesturing for the others to circle around. Their aim was to disarm; and the three best with d'Artagnan were to do just that. They were too much for LaBarge, who was no match for their skill; his brute strength giving him no advantage with the sword.

So they lunged at him; ripped holes in his tunic; and laughed making him feel their superiority until finally he threw his sword at them in frustration and screamed for them to come get him – waving his hands and daring them to fight him like a man- hand to hand.

They held their swords out and circled around him trying to gauge his fighting style; looking to find his Achilles heel and take advantage of it. This was their chance; to bring him in alive was the priority.

Athos tried again, "Do you surrender sir?"

But LaBarge continued on with his taunts.

"I hope you don't fight like those little girls your lot sent before – one who cried like a baby and screamed for mercy; while the other crawled away like a coward and begged me to leave him alone."

d'Artagnan yelled back, "No one here is afraid of you LaBarge", so he threw down his weapon and lunged at the man – his mind filled with rage over the humiliation Sebastien suffered at his hands – always to believe he was a coward.

So without thinking of all that he had been taught, he raced headlong to LaBarge – who with little effort, lifted him from his feet and flung him aside as if he were of no consequence. When he hit the ground – he felt the air leave his lungs and he lay stunned on the deck of the ship unable to breathe; let alone move to help his friends.

Porthos then put aside his weapon and took point, he and LaBarge circling each other like giant bears on the attack. As they grabbed each other's necks and held tight working to bring each other down – the captain of the Endeavor and his crew came running from all quarters to watch the spectacle – not wishing to end the fight, but to be entertained.

Night began to fall, and as the lanterns were being lit on the wharf to light up darkened path ways; they cast an eerie glow on the deck causing shadows to ebb and flow.

That's when Aramis and Athos took action and ran to ram their bodies against LaBarg grabbing him under his armpits; tipping the scale in Porthos' favor. And though LaBarge fought wildly, they held tight to his arms trying with all their might to bring him down backwards.

Then suddenly they heard a yelling force, moving swiftly, careen toward them going low and tackling LaBarge at the legs. d'Artagnan had gathered his wits – saw his brothers and knew what to do – attack the weak point, the legs and then LaBarge would come tumbling down like a felled tree; and it worked.

They all then fell to the deck – holding LaBarge down, pinning him down so he could not move.

Two well-placed punches to the jaw by Porthos and LeBarge lay unconscious at their feet.

The crew of the Endeavor erupted in cheers and clapped loudly; such entertainment for them was rare, and they enjoyed it.

"Rope!" Porthos called out to the Captain – who threw a nearby heavy cord at them.

The crew then losing interest; left slowly to get back to their duties.

Porthos then expertly tied LaBarge's hands together; Aramis threw a bucket of water in his face; and Athos waited patiently for him to regain his senses. d'Artagnan stood nearby doubled over, holding his stomach, taking deep breaths still stunned from his harsh meeting with the deck of the ship.

When LaBarge finally opened his eyes, he found himself looking up from the deck, his hands tied securely; and the four men before him, pointing muskets at him for the kill shot.

Athos then stood over him, "I am Athos of the King's Musketeers, and you are here by charged with the murders of two musketeers. We are here to take you back to Paris to be punished for your crimes. Do you surrender sir?"

LaBarge nodded his head; and acknowledged his defeat.

Athos gestured with his pistol, "Stand then, we will make haste to Paris."

So as in coming to Soular ad now traveling back to Paris with their prisoner – the trip was uneventful – LaBarge being made to walk the two days back, having little inclination to fight or to converse.

As they passed from village to village; citizens met them on the roads and pointed to LaBarge with venom in their hearts; thanking the musketeers for bringing such a tyrant to justice.

If the capture of this wanted man did not gain the King's attention toward a commission for d'Artagnan, then Athos did not know what would?

As they made their way finally into Paris and walked the crowded streets, dragging LaBarge by foot tethered to a rope, he thought of Captain Treville's advice, and wondered if his judgement where d'Artagnan was concerned was clouded by his fond regard.

Once again, he had almost gotten himself killed by his own passion; a habit he would continue to try and temper.

But when he looked to his right; there sat d'Artagnan, straight and tall in his saddle; pride radiating through his body, with a look of satisfaction on his face as if to say, a job well done – and his Captain's words skittered way above the throng of people. He would see him become a musketeer in name; no matter what it took.

When he turned away and looked ahead, he saw Captain Trudeau of the Red Guard, moving toward them and groaned.

* * *

Thank you for reading; and also for your wonderful reviews. I also want to once again take a moment to thank all of you who have favorited or who are following this story. Please take a moment to comment; the reviews really do keep me going!


	9. Chapter 9

Good Advice

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one episodes The Challenge and Knight Takes Queen. d'Artagnan has received his commission; but has lost his faith in love. Aramis has some good advice.

* * *

Chapter 9: Advice from Aramis to d'Artagnan (and others by proxy)

And so when d'Artagnan entered the house, it felt strange to him not to be happy; to seek Constance out – embrace her and share his tremendous news. It had happened just the way he had promised her; and just how she had predicted – he had received his commission at long last. Chosen as champion by his Captain- he had defeated LaBarge – the killer of musketeers; the tyrant of Gascony.

A journey that had begun almost a year ago, in a driving rain of grief had come to fruition. He was a musketeer; a servant to his King and country – finally now in name.

Instead – as he stepped across the threshold, the house was quiet. All he could hear were the floorboards creaking under his feet, and light footsteps above him – letting him know that Constance didn't want to see him.

He sighed deeply and moved deeper into the house; past the pantry where he had loved her deeply and with abandon; past the parlor where she broke his heart and to the room that would no longer be his residence.

He looked about the small space and could not think what to do. Today was the happiest and one of the saddest days of his life. The conflicting emotions tore at him and made him inert – so he sat on the bed and stared down at the fleur de lis on his shoulder. He touched it with great care and thought back to that moment when Athos slipped it over his arm and to his shoulder.

The look on his face was one of pride; and he felt that too. Agreement between them understood, on a job well done. The death of two musketeers had been venerated; and his father and the people of Gascony had received justice.

He felt pride in this great achievement; and love for this man who had not given up on him; who worked with him tirelessly every day; and who never stopped looking for opportunities to help him reach his dream.

He took in a shaky breath. If his father were here; he would hope to see that same look. "Oh Father", he whispered; squeezing his eyes shut to stave off tears. What would he give now, in this moment – for his father to be here, to see him a musketeer?

Then suddenly he felt his throat constrict, and he looked hopelessly down at his hands – sorrow washed over him. First his father, and now he had lost Constance.

He could hear her voice rejecting him in this house – telling him that she did not love him. How could he have misjudged her feelings so completely? How could she from one hour to the next revel in his love, then crush him so absolutely?

He stood then – his anger quickly spiking; pushing him to gather his meager belongings – stuff them forcibly one by one in his satchel, until there was nothing left of him here for her to call to mind.

But when he finished packing – he looked to the bed and could see her standing over him with a worried look on her face; introducing herself at the door; smiling at him in the pantry; and he thought – she would remember that; she would remember all of the moments they shared in this house. She would remember the day he fell into her life and loved her on sight.

All his effects would be gone; but she would recall those moments as he did now – of them together – in this house, dancing around love until it inevitably consumed them.

Or maybe not; maybe he had got it all wrong. Perhaps he was just a flirtation to her after all – someone to fill the gaps of her unhappy marriage.

His emotions spiked again, and he turned from the room – eager to leave this place and not look back. He had somewhere to go now – someplace he could call home again – where his family resided and waited now to welcome him.

He would not waste another moment here – he was going home.

As he strode purposefully down the hall toward the door – he caught sight of Constance as she stood from her seat in the parlor. He stopped short – hoping against hope that she would tell him not to go – or to take her with him – that she did love him still, and before – all that she said - was a terrible mistake – a bad dream; a nightmare, that was now behind them. She would choose him.

But when she spoke, it was with such guarded detachment that it took a moment for him to comprehend what she was saying – "I suppose you'll live at the garrison?"

It was as if she had punched him and the air had left his lungs – but he forced out his response, "It's my home now", and then flung angrily at her, "I hope you enjoy your respectable life." He turned then, not seeing her expression, and walked away from her – the pain in his chest aching without air, and he had to get out so he could breathe.

When he stepped out into the sunshine, the life of Paris moved swiftly around him. The breeze caught his face and he took in that much needed breath.

He looked about his surroundings and the bustle of Paris raced by – pushing him forward, out toward the street away from the Bonacieux home.

He began to think ahead. New things were about to happen. Adventure waited just around the corner. Just as Paris raced ahead; so would he.

And just as he resolved in that moment to be his own man – to look the future squarely in the eye; to take hold of his destiny; and leave Constance behind – Milady DeWinter's carriage stopped before him with the door open.

She sat languidly looking out at him; beautiful beyond words – offering herself; waiting for him to join her. He reached for the open door and looked in – and found that she was not the adventure he was looking for.

"Thank you for your patronage", he said to her sincerely – for it was true, without her money; he would not have had the opportunity to compete and receive his commission.

Her eyes caught his and he felt a strange warning deep in his gut telling him to stick to his plan – he was going home today.

"I knew I'd spotted a great talent", she purred the compliment sweetly; her words fawning, thick with charm. "Can I offer you a lift?"

His stomach took another dive and urged him to leave. Didn't he just resolve to be his own man? So he closed the door to her carriage with emphasis, and said with purpose, "Another time perhaps", and made his way toward the garrison and his brothers – glad to be away from her.

It was time to begin his new life as a musketeer.

And as he approached the gate – he looked across the line that separated the streets of Paris from the garrison yard – and felt something expectant and hopeful stir in him.

He stood before the gate, gripped his pauldron and repeated the words Athos had drilled into him over these many months, "Duty – Honor – France", and stepped over the line.

Approaching him –he heard Aramis call, "Now, here is our new musketeer! Welcome home brother." Aramis placed his arms about his shoulders; and he fell into them, laughing – unable to contain his joy.

His pain - for the moment - waiting in shadows; expertly hidden.

* * *

A few weeks passed, and d'Artagnan became adjusted to living and working at the garrison full time – his thoughts of Constance receded to the background, taken over by duties; rotations; and the busy life of a full-fledged musketeer.

She only then invaded his thoughts at night, when it was quiet and he was still. When he could sleep – she waited for him in his dreams and he loved her. Sometimes – when he awoke – he would reach for her beside him; and say her name; only to remember it wasn't real.

So – he had been so intent on immersing himself in this new life; that when, one day, after muster, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos, asked to speak with him at the stables – when the work day was over, he was taken aback.

To him all had seemed to be going well. The Captain seemed pleased; other musketeers had been genuine in their congratulations; and even the King had approached him on parade a week ago to say how well he looked in his new uniform. And then the next day, had pointed him out to retell his version of his victory over LaBarge to the courtiers.

The three of them had seemed so serious – and when the inseparables were that serious – it concerned him.

All day he went through his paces, wondering about this conversation. They could not be displeased; for each day it seemed to him, he received a compliment; a pat on the back; or a kind word of encouragement. Even Serge had taken to making his favorites on Fridays; to much ribbing from the others; and regaling him with stories of his once glorious days as a musketeer with his trusted Cleopatra at his side.

So at the end of the long day – he made his way to the stables; and could not fathom what they would wish to speak on.

They were already there when he arrived – so this made him quite nervous; and he was glad when they asked him to sit on a bale of hay – his legs already trembling with worry – so much so, that he missed what Athos was saying to him right away.

When the others looked at him as if he was to answer – he lowered his head, "Could you say that again?" he queried, feeling foolish.

Athos came closer then, and put his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder; making sure to be heard, and repeated his inquiry, "We would have you for our fourth d'Artagnan, and wish to know your thoughts on this."

d'Artagnan was stunned; and looked up at the three musketeers perplexed. He didn't understand. "Am I not already your fourth?" he asked with honest to goodness innocence; wondering why they were in the stables to discuss what already was established – letting out a breath of relief.

Athos' eyes crinkled with mirth; and he coughed into his hand to cover a possible laugh; Porthos reached out and ruffled d'Artagnan's hair saying, "Only you d'Artagnan"; and Aramis smiled mischievously, looking to the others as if to say – pay up – but instead said, "I told you so", holding his hand out to receive coin – which they gave up readily.

Athos then looked to all his brothers and announced, "Well then – let us officially inform our Captain of these arrangements, so there will be no doubts", and they grabbed d'Artagnan by the shoulders and marched side by side together to see their Captain.

Others looked in their direction as they sauntered by, and thought – there go the four musketeers.

* * *

So a week later – the four were standing in front of Treville, receiving orders for their first mission together since d'Artagnan had achieved his commission.

d'Artagnan was antsy and hyper aware – his pauldron weighing heavy on his shoulder – quite shiny and new; as he listened to the particulars.

They were to escort the Queen and her entourage of three to the healing pools of Bourbon –les – eaux; stay for two days and then escort them back to Paris. It would take them a day to reach the springs.

d'Artagnan was very excited. To be asked to protect the Queen on his first mission as a musketeer was an honor.

They then stood together around the map on Treville's desk and plotted out their trip – hoping to think of every contingency that could befall them – with anticipation that the journey would be routine and unremarkable.

The next day, when they rode away – the four musketeers – surrounding the royal carriage, the Queen waved good-bye to her husband; her eyes sad, but determined; with faith that the warm springs would bring her good fortune this year.

As hoped for, the journey to their half-way point was quiet and routine. The scenery about them was calm and unchanged; few other travelers were on the road – none threatening or bothersome. d'Artagnan took to checking on his pauldron often causing his companions to chuckle to themselves – already a plan forming to muddy his prize possession.

They stopped among the trees, near a stream bed, to provide shade and water from the heat of the sun – which sat high in the clear sky – a light breeze providing some respite. The Queen seemed hardy, and did not complain of the heat; careful to not be a nuisance.

The Queen and her entourage alighted from their carriage; moved further away and took care of their needs, using a coverlet to give them privacy.

The musketeers took great care to be discreet and still provide them protection.

Once complete – they sat together to eat a meal before setting out to reach the springs before nightfall.

Forever wanting to keep busy, in order to keep thoughts of Constance at bay - d'Artagnan practiced the unloading and reloading of his firearm over and over again, in hopes that one day, it would be as natural as breathing to him as it was to Aramis and the others.

Aramis watched him with a keen eye and commented, "That is well done d'Artagnan. You are getting quite good at that. The trick is to move quickly – but not too quickly – lest you drop the ball - when someone is firing at you or you are under attack. This is a skill that will always be needed – your life will depend on it – yes?"

As he did this – the Queen watched thoughtfully and asked if she might try her hand at loading a weapon. Trying new things always made her feel useful and useful is what she desperately wanted to be. Aramis, sensing her need, quickly volunteered; sat close to her and pulled out his own weapon to show her the workings of his firearm.

She was attentive; polite and a good student – able to reload the weapon – though slowly, but correctly. Before the others knew it, Aramis and the Queen were as old friends. Athos lifted his eyebrow as he watched them laughing; smiling; and cringed as Aramis attempted a joke – which she smiled at with good grace, placing her hand on his arm.

Athos scowled; troubled by this familiarity. This friendliness would lead to nothing good.

Porthos caught Athos' eye, puzzled at this directness between the two – wondering at such chemistry between the Queen and her musketeer.

* * *

After some time they made their way to the springs. The sun was beginning to set, giving the sky a purplish hue as its rays reflected on the water.

d'Artagnan thought – looking out at the landscape – Constance would like it here – but dismissed the idea quickly, not wanting to descend into melancholia.

The musketeers then went about raising the tent; and d'Artagnan being the youngest was sent to care for the horses; find the kindling and light the fire. He did not mind; keeping busy was a godsend, and he relished it.

The Queen watched as the sun began to fall lower below the horizon; the fire light casting an orange glow over the healing waters, as if promising life and well-being. She looked forward to tomorrow – ready to immerse herself in its warmth. She scanned the pool; and could see the steam rise. She clasped her hands together – as if praying. She needed this badly; this had to be her year.

Aramis, sensing her anxiety, moved close to distract and explained, "Tomorrow, we will wait there atop that overhang. We will be watching; and you will be safe – there is no need to worry." She nodded her head in thanks – trusting him completely. Aramis had saved her life before; and she had no doubt that he would watch over her now. She looked to her ladies and retired to the tent.

As the evening wore on, the sky turned from dusky purple, to an inky black – the moon, full, reflected its light off the waters and the musketeers settled themselves around the flames.

d'Artagnan, who was reluctant to sleep – lest Constance came to visit him in his dreams; sat up with Aramis who took the first watch, Porthos and Athos lay nearby, looking to the stars feeling themselves relaxed. Soon they would nod off; to be awakened in a few short hours to relieve their brothers in watching over their Queen.

Aramis looked across the flames to d'Artagnan; and having sensed his reluctance to rest asked, "What keeps you awake my friend?"

d'Artagnan sighed heavily and decided to share, "I have made up my mind, that I will never find love the way my father did with my mother; and so will not put my faith in it again."

Aramis recalled d'Artagnan saying something to this effect recently and asked curiously – "What has happened?"

"Constance has rejected me; has told me she doesn't love me. I had thought to be happy for a moment would be enough, but it isn't. Athos tried to tell me – she is married. But I wouldn't listen."

Hearing this from where he lay, Athos tuned in to listen more closely. He had feared this would happen; and now it was true. The boy's heart was broken. It was good that Aramis would speak to him now. He had no good advice to give when it came to matters of love. Obviously, his advice some weeks ago had fallen short. His happiness had not lasted long.

Aramis studied his friend; and thought on what to say. To give advice on matters of the heart was to enter into dangerous territory; but he asked anyway, "Well, do you still love her?"

d'Artagnan nodded his head in the affirmative, as he pushed at the flames with a stick – causing sparks to fly and wood to shift.

Aramis looked on his friend's sad countenance, "Do you want my advice in this matter d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan nodded his head yes again; looking into the flames – anxious as to what Aramis might say.

"Well, do me a favor then. If I give you this advice – know that you may or may not follow it. It is up to you. But if you should follow it, do not blame me for having given it. Can you do that?"

d'Artagnan swallowed hard, and spoke up, "Yes – I will not blame you, if I follow this advice and it goes wrong." Aramis looked to him unbelieving. "I promise", d'Artagnan insisted.

"Then, I say d'Artagnan that love never fails – it always protects us; always trusts; always hopes and always perseveres. Do not give up on it. If you are meant to be with Constance then it will happen; if not…." he shrugged his shoulders, leaving the sentence open for him to interpret.

d'Artagnan thought on this and frowned at his friend. Constance had turned him out and would not hear his declarations. She had made it clear that she had too much to lose.

"Show Constance how you feel if she will not hear it – remember this", he paused for a beat and considered the moon, "Let us not love with words or tongue, but with actions and truth."

He then gazed directly into d'Artagnan's eyes, "She will see the truth in it; and if not her – then there is someone out there for you."

"There is only Constance", d'Artagnan said softly and he drew his knees up and stared into the flames.

As his friends drew silent, Athos closed his eyes thinking on Aramis' words and believed that they gave d'Artagnan some hope. For him, he could take the words to heart and love his brothers the more – maybe finally share his secret; trust that they would regard him still – even knowing the truth.

But as for finding true love again – Anne had nearly destroyed him – haunted him still; and he feared he could never love as he did when a youth. He closed his eyes tighter and willed himself to sleep.

Having heard the conversation between his two friends, Porthos contemplated, looked to the stars; and thought of Madame Clerbeaux, and wondered at his choices.

He did not love her; and she not him, but they had a mutual caring; and perhaps could have been happy traveling the world together – seeing new places; having their own special adventures. But he loved being a soldier; and he loved his brothers and for now would not give that up. He and Alice were not meant to be, and that was okay. He smiled knowingly - he was a better person for knowing her. For a brief time, he had shown her through actions and truth how much he cared – and this had brought them both some happiness. Porthos relaxed his body; and drifted off to sleep.

When d'Artagnan began to finally settle down – Aramis sat alone by the blaze and thought of Isabelle; his love from so long ago – who he thought of often and wondered what could have been between them if things had been different. He had not given up on her; instead, life had conspired against them – sending his life in a direction that had him here today with the people he most cared for. He and Isabelle were just not meant to be.

He hoped and prayed that things would turn out well for d'Artagnan. If anyone deserved love and happiness – it was he.

As everyone around him fell silent and drifted away in their own dreams; breathing slow, even and steady – Aramis thought how beautiful it was here. The moon was bright; the stars were out and he could hear the ripples of the healing pool flow back and forth; and thought tomorrow was going to be a wonderful day. And though he loved the rhythm of the city, he would take the opportunity to embrace the great outdoors.

* * *

Thank you for reading and hope that you take a moment to send a review. Reviews are like receiving gifts. Your kind remarks are always welcome. Thank you also to those guests who have reviewed, your comments mean a great deal and are much appreciated. Also, thank you to those who have followed and favorited this story. I am still thinking on how to get Constance to give some advice – but she hasn't come forward yet!


	10. Chapter 10

Good Advice

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This chapter takes place during the season one final episode, Musketeers Don't Die Easy. Athos' truth and d'Artagnan's unwitting part in it is finally revealed – leading to advice from all parties involved.

Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with Good Advice. Your comments and reviews were extremely welcomed! I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

* * *

Chapter 10: Advice from Everyone

The Crow was raucous tonight – loud, hot – pressed with men and women, drinking; eating; gambling; and loving loosely. The heat of closeness and the roaring flames from the hearth – for some would be considered unbearable. But among the crowd tonight, it added to the treacherousness – the sense of forbidden dangers that the night time brought to Paris.

And The Crow provided it all. If you looked hard enough; knew the right type of people – anything the unsavory part of the city had to offer - you could find it here. Gus, the innkeeper, was here to please. He knew everybody and anybody. All one had to do was ask.

This was the place to go – where a person could disappear for a few hours – before heading back out to the mud; manure; and the filth of life. Places like The Crow offered relief from the toil of back breaking sameness; and the boredom of pampered royalty. Every class of man could sit here among each other; and be who they were. The day to day grind of city life; lifted gratefully away, even if for just the night.

Here a person could just let go – drink to oblivion to blot out poverty; loss or respectability. If luck would have it – win a few rounds at cards; pay for release with someone unknown; unconventional or hide in the open – to seek solitude in numbers.

Athos sat among them and waited openly under cover. He was good at being in places like this – where everyone could see him – but not know he was there. It had taken a lifetime, but he had perfected the art of camouflage, in places like The Crow; the palace court; and the cobblestone streets of Paris.

He was not sure how he came to prefect the skill – but knew that he could be among many – in a crowded room; on a busy street; on palace duty at parade – and be invisible. And most times, all it took was a hat; or to sit at a certain angle; to feign indifference; and it would be enough to deflect attention away from him.

Perhaps this talent was born during his childhood; from being considered a shadow in his own home. Growing up – he did not speak unless he was spoken to - hidden behind the skirts of governesses – sequestered with servants and tutors – drifting in and out of rooms – seen, but unseen – his brother; the only other person to know him.

To draw attention to oneself was to incur the wrath of a father and the coolness of a mother – who believed that children were to be hidden and kept out of sight – only to appear on Tuesdays and Thursdays to show off lessons learned and to perform like parrots; and then hoping against hope to get a modicum of praise.

As a boy – he could move among his family; the staff, and never be seen or heard; questions never asked of him; his very essence lost amid the opulence. It was a skill well learned and which came in handy in his line of work – and as it did now.

And in his youth, is where he also learned the importance of patience – to wait for things; people; words, to come to him. If he waited long enough, he was always rewarded in the end. He would need patience tonight; because tonight as with other nights, he waited for her to come and be a part of The Crow.

She – his wife – came here some nights; like the others here – to let go; to be among the vibe of the Paris streets. This is where, for the past month, he watched her talk with Gus, the innkeeper – to hear about the latest news of Paris' back alleys – to keep tabs on decadent nobles; and find royalty ripe for bribing and coercion of information. She was a master at it.

Some nights, when he waited, she did not come and he would leave, weary, beating himself up for wasting time; questioning his motives; bewildered by her pull on him – to see her, to know what she was doing; to understand her transformation from the girl he thought he knew to this destroyer of life.

But on the nights she did come – unaware of his presence – he would see her and his heart beat would quicken; his mouth gone dry like cotton; and his palms sweaty with ….what, he didn't know; and he would become overwhelmed with her. Perhaps she had cast a spell all those years ago – bewitched him somehow – placed a curse that would not allow him to let her go. How else could he explain it?

And then she was there. He could feel her presence just before he picked her out of the crowed room – her ability to blend in as well-honed as his.

The clothes she wore were unremarkable – her hood, from a dark full length cloak covered her distinctive raven hair and hid the curves of her body; but could not hide how she held her head high and walked boldly without fear among the most hardened of hardened.

She moved like silk among the patrons – sliding through the crowd unnoticed by most; but for he and the man she came to meet – who stood and gestured her forward to a table at the back of the inn.

When she walked by his table – the scent of her – Jasmine, wafted subtly around him – flashing back a memory of her, smiling up at him – love in her eyes – or so he had thought. Jasmine, it was, that d'Artagnan had smelled at the establishment of the money lender – the man murdered and hanging on the back of his door. He squeezed his eyes tight – it was her scent there, he was sure of it.

He bowed his head, but scrutinized her as she floated by. She was the patroness of the Cardinal; a hired assassin; and his creation. He knew she had become this creature because of him; and knew without a doubt, it was she who had hired Gallagher; and killed the money lender. This was on him, and he must find a way to set things right.

How were they to stop her; and expose the Cardinal for his attempt on the Queen's life? What was her Achilles heel?

What was her mission here tonight? By the look of it – to begin making connections to cover her own tracks – save her own skin; for surely she already knew they could not possibly get away with this. The Cardinal would find a way to be rid of her before he took the fall.

But he would not under estimate her this time; she would pay for her crimes – and it would be by his hand. He would find a way to counteract the spell she held over him.

The Cardinal and Milady must be brought to justice.

It was time to share his secret with the others.

* * *

So now – here he stood – before his Captain, having explained his connection to Milady deWinter – the weight of his confession – though lifted here; waiting now to be shared with his brothers.

Treville studied the man before him. Athos was his best swordsman; a genius. Well respected by all who knew him; and loved by his brothers. Quiet; reserved; competent and yet tortured. He had known of some deep sorrow that involved a woman – but this? This was beyond sorrow. How had he borne it these past five years?

Captain Treville sighed, and could read the apprehension coiled in Athos' body. "They will hear it, and think no less of you. I think no less of you."

He tried to engage eye contact, but Athos was having none of it and turned away. And at that moment, a knock at the door indicated the others had arrived at his request. Treville looked to his second and advised, "Tell it as you told me; do not lighten it. They know something has been gnawing at you for months now. Let us help you."

Athos nodded his assent; steeled his nerve; and set his back straight. He turned toward the door and readied himself as the Captain called out, "Come in."

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan then filed into the office – looking between the Captain and Athos sensing something amiss.

d'Artagnan felt that foreboding blanket of misery cloak him in anxiety; that same feeling that reared its ugly head to him months ago, sending him out among the trees on the outskirts of Paris following Athos, attempting to protect him from an unknown danger. The pit in his stomach felt heavy; whatever was about to be shared sent a shiver down his spine. This was not good – his premonitions were coming to light.

Porthos knew right away what was coming, "Are you ready now to tell us then?" he inquired, Aramis knowing then also to what he referred, removing his hat and staring directly at Athos – waiting for the axe to drop.

Looking straight ahead, with Treville a comforting strength at his back, he let it out, "The woman, Madame de la Chapelle, at the trial, is my wife."

Aramis thumped down in a nearby chair – his face showing bewildered surprise, "Your wife?"

"That someone special – who died; and drove you to drink?",Porthos summed up with an incredulous air to his voice.

d'Artagnan added then, thinking it must be okay to share what he knew, since Athos was revealing all, "The one who burned down your estate; and tried to kill you? She was at the Comtesse de Larroque's trial?"

They all looked to d'Artagnan then, Aramis voicing, "I'm not surprised you know some of this – you went back that day."

Porthos nodded, "Yes, a feeling you had, if I recall."

d'Artagnan nodded yes, and pressed his lips together; having another one of those feelings now. There was more to come with this revelation.

Athos continued, "And that feeling saved my life. She is a dangerous woman – capable of anything."

Porthos gave Athos his full attention, "Then I advise you to tell us; and leave nothing out."

And so, Athos began with how he had met his wife as a young man some ten years ago, as – so he thought, the sister of the curator in Pinon. He knew her then as Anne de Brevil. In time, he loved her; and against his family's wishes, married her. He had been happy and content in his life, until the day she murdered his brother and through some investigation, found that in a former life she had been imprisoned; marked as a criminal, and a thief.

All she had told him of herself had been a lie, to trap him into marriage. As the Comte, and magistrate over his estate, he had sentenced her to death by hanging and had thought her dead these five years until some months ago, when she revealed herself to him; ready to exact revenge.

Athos stood tall; and stared straight ahead as he told his story – unable to look his brothers in the eye and see their disappointment in someone they thought they knew. He had kept his shame close now for five years; and now it was out. What is it they would think?

As the others heard this tale, they not only listened to the words, but heard the pain in them. This man, who spoke only when the need arose – had just given a sad dialogue of events held sealed and locked away.

Athos continued, "Comtesse de Larroque warned me that she was under the patronage of the Cardinal; hired to bring her down; destroy her. She almost succeeded in having her burned alive."

The room then became very quiet; and Athos tentatively looked from man to man. What he saw in their faces was not disappointment or aversion – but true consternation and concern. He let out a breath he did not know he was holding. Perhaps all would be well.

Porthos thought on this and broke the silence, "So, do you think she is involved with the plot on the Queen along with the Cardinal?"

"I do. The flower sewn into the money box given to Gallagher – that is her signature. d'Artagnan smelled her scent – Jasmine – at the scene of the moneylender's. A woman, you said, was there."

d'Artagnan nodded his head yes, quickly; watching the others as the dots began to connect.

"I have been watching her for some time now, and she goes by many names – but most recently Madame de la Chapelle and Milady DeWinter."

Upon hearing those words, d'Artagnan's world began to spin – Milady – Athos' wife? He stood and his chair fell to the floor with a crash; the ground shifted and tilted. Where was his equilibrium? The others turned to look at him with concern.

Aramis stood and moved to reach for him, "What is it d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan' mind began fogging over. He felt lightheaded; he could not think; the foreboding danger had been him. He had slept with his best friend's wife; who was a murderer; and who had conspired to kill the Queen of France.

He backed up toward the door; taking in the astonished faces of his friends at his reaction.

d'Artagnan looked straight at Athos – My God, what had he done? He had slept with her; she had saved his life; and he had accepted her money. If not for her patronage – he may not have had the chance to receive his commission. He had been playing with fire. Constance had tried to warn him – she had felt the woman's duplicity.

His stomach lurched; and bile threatened to crawl up his throat. He was going to be sick; but he swallowed convulsively and fought it down. His lungs began to constrict and he could feel a tight band wind its way around his chest.

He could not breathe – and in that moment bolted from the office – took the steps down three – four at a time, hitting the dirt of the garrison yard at full speed – ripping the pauldron from his arm, dropping it in his wake and racing for the gate. He could never look Athos in the eye again. How could the man stand to serve next to him? He would never forgive him.

Treville stood from his seat, watching the horror on d'Artagnan's face escalate into full blown hysteria, "Stand down d'Artagnan!" he yelled; but it was too late. He was gone before anyone could react.

Athos was stricken. He had expected some fall out, but this? A pain pierced his chest, and he staggered to hold onto Treville's desk; afraid he would lose the ability to stand. His true self had driven the boy away.

Aramis ran for the door, "What has just happened?"

Porthos stepped out onto the walk way – peering out into the darkness, "We should go after him."

Treville held up his hands, effectively halting Aramis and Porthos from running out into the night. He then honed his gaze in on Athos. "Stop and think, where would he go?"

Athos stood away from the desk, searched his mind, and knew right away, nodding to his Captain.

"Then go" he said, "take care of this and bring him back. We have much work to do."

* * *

d'Artagnan ran blindly beyond the garrison gate; out into the streets of Paris where the underbelly had come to life in full splendor. Vagrants stood in dark corners and voices called out; bouncing with gaiety off buildings and traveling down alley ways.

He ran past revelers, who now had taken their noisy atmosphere from the inside of nearby taverns; to share with bystanders out in the open.

As he raced by he did not see them or hear them. Only his feet pounding the ground; keeping cadence with his fast beating heart, let him know he had not gone deaf.

Suddenly, he recognized where he was headed. Without knowing it – he had been moving toward her – his sanctuary; his life - Constance.

He had to see her; talk to her – she would know what to do. She would advise him; shore him up and all would be settled.

Before he knew it, he stood before the Bonacieux home – breathing hard. He paused before the door, indecision warring within, causing him to shake with uneasiness. He raised his hand to knock, but on its own volition, froze in place. He could not move.

Just weeks ago, she had sent him away from here; made it clear she did not love him. Should he intrude? If Monsieur Bonacieux were home, would he cause trouble – call the Red Guard and have him hauled away for disturbing the peace?

Was his need fair to her? Would she detest him the more for showing up here at her door bringing more dissension into her home; in the middle of the night for her husband to laud over her and for the neighbors to whisper and gossip of the impropriety?

He slowly lowered his hand and clenched the fist at his side – trying to bring himself under control. He closed his eyes and stood still before her door and tried to will her to come – open it and let him in.

"What am I to do?" he whispered. And in that moment, he knew she stood on the other side of the door – but would not open it. So he moved closer and touched his palms flat to the surface and leaned his head on the cool wood; and swore he could feel her energy flow out to him.

She had predicted he would get his commission; knew he had talent, strength, and the will to make it happen. She had shared with him, his dream of becoming a musketeer. She knew how much it meant to him; to stand with his brothers; and to make Athos proud.

He sighed deeply and felt her indomitable spirit flow through him. She would tell him to face Athos, as he had faced them tonight; and to not run away from his responsibilities.

He reached to touch his pauldron – and felt it gone from his shoulder. Yes, he would go back – retrieve his honor; and face the man he admired most – and hope he would forgive him.

d'Artagnan stood back from the door; and peered through it as if he could see her standing there – smiling at him; encouraging him to go now and make amends.

He nodded with purpose, and as he turned away, there Athos stood behind him, holding out his pauldron; his face, etched with worry. He reached for his prize possession; held it with care, and felt self-reproach as heat rising from his neck, to his cheeks, and then to his ears. "I'm sorry", he offered.

Athos grabbed him about the neck and squeezed with affection, "Come, let us talk", and they walked away from the Bonacieux home together.

Unknown to them, Constance stood at the window gazing out at them, tears in her eyes – wrapping her arms tightly around her waist to keep herself from tearing open the door and racing after her life. She took her fist then and rammed it into her mouth – biting down hard to keep from screaming out loud for him to come back – that she loved him – that she hadn't meant those terrible things she had said. Her legs then trembled and she slid down little by little, until she reached the ground, in front of the door – and wept.

Monsieur Bonacieux stood at the top of the stairs and heard his wife weeping as if she was in grief. How could he keep his wife amid such passion? If he let her go, then how would he live without her? He did not think he could.

Across the street, Monsieur and Madame Joubert, moved quietly away from their bedroom window and crawled back into bed. Benjamin looked to his wife and grabbed her hand – holding tight. She smiled at this old man – who she had loved for almost forty years, "I suppose that one will not give up", she said rubbing his hand held over hers.

He smiled back and kissed her knuckles, "If he asked my advice about it, I should say not to."

She reached to embrace him, and they nestled down to sleep.

* * *

Walking back to the garrison with Athos, d'Artagnan's mind flooded with emotions; the most powerful of all fear – fear of the unknown; of losing the good will and respect of his brothers; and fear most of all of looking in the eyes of his best friend and finding a look of betrayal.

Along the way, he stole glances Athos' way; trying to gauge his friend's affect – wanting to test the waters, but afraid to speak. It was hard to tell what he was thinking – as the shadows caused by the street lamps only gave him flickers of light to go by.

But the arm about his neck and shoulders was still there – a steady force, warm and heavy, guiding him back home to the garrison.

He held his pauldron and studied it closely. What if Athos – after hearing his confession – turned him away? What would he do? Did he still want to be a musketeer without this man at his side?

He stole another glance his way, but could only take in a stoic jawline – and then they were at the gate.

d'Artagnan stopped in his tracks, as if a barrier had been placed before him – an invisible force, preventing him from moving forward – the fear of losing his home; his family; so real it caused him pain.

Athos looked over to him, frowned, and paused with him. What was on d'Artagnan's mind; did he mistrust him that much that he didn't want to come home? He could feel him trembling beneath his hand, where it still sat at his neck. He waited a beat, and then guided him through the gate into the garrison yard.

They then sat at their table, beneath the walkway and sat side by side – letting the silence of the garrison surround them. Athos was content to sit and wait – thinking how to put the words together to have d'Artagnan at ease in his company.

But it was d'Artagnan who spoke first, "How did you know where to find me?"

Athos leaned forward; placed his elbows on his knees; and clasped his hands together. For a moment he considered his answer, and laughed softly, "We are much alike."

As he had gone to seek Anne out in the Paris nights – that bond – that string that tethered them, though frayed, but unbroken, brought him to her; he knew it was the same with d'Artagnan. Where else would he go, but to Constance.

He bowed his head and continued, "I am sorry my revelation tonight disturbed you. I only wish….."

d'Artagnan raised his hand to interrupt, "No, no – it isn't you Athos. There is nothing you have done. It's me – it's what I've done."

Athos lifted his head; he had not expected this. The deep relief he felt staggered him. He had prepared himself, but he had not wanted to lose d'Artagnan.

"Then what is it?"

d'Artagnan sat straight, and gripped his pauldron tight, "I know Milady DeWinter." He paused and swallowed hard; gathering his courage to continue.

"When I first came to Paris, I met her at the Fox and Hound. There is no excuse I could give that would matter as to why it happened – but I slept with her." His mouth suddenly felt dry; and he licked his lips.

Athos studied his hands, clasped before him, and thought about this. Anne had motivation for everything she did. This boy, when he first met almost a year ago – had thrived mostly on raw emotion; ripe for any deception she was ready to pluck.

"And yet you live", Athos said softly.

"When I woke the next morning, she had left a bloody dagger beside me and the whole house screamed at me, murderer. I barely escaped with my life. She tried to frame me."

Athos remembered something about this. A Spanish merchant found dead – stabbed in one of the rooms at the Fox and Hound – no doubt by her hand.

d'Artagnan stood from the table and began to pace back and forth; now that he had gotten started, he could not stop.

"She has been my benefactor; saved my life; and sponsored my entry fee for the contest."

Athos laughed, "Then in that – I am grateful to her."

d'Artagnan sat again and looked to his mentor, "I do not understand your reaction, Athos. Do you forgive me or not?"

Athos sighed, "Neither do I. My feelings are incomprehensible to me; but know this – there is nothing to forgive."

From that pronouncement, d'Artagnan leaned back and pondered all that had happened. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from him. The fear he had felt earlier, receded and left his body – taking its place a grateful sense of well-being.

Athos leaned back also, and looked to the night sky, and the stars that shown bright against the cloudless, black canvas. He thought he might lose d'Artagnan this night, but instead he felt closer to him somehow.

When he thought on this, a plan began to take hold in his mind and he knew what needed to be done to ensnare Milady and bring the Cardinal down.

"I believe her Achilles heel is me, d'Artagnan" he revealed. "She wants me dead. That you still live is for a reason. This will be useful in bringing to light the Cardinal's conspiracy."

"Then what of Milady?"

"She will pay for her crimes and it will be by my hand. She has become who she is because of me. Her actions are blood on my hands."

d'Artagnan turned to him, nervous at the tone of Athos voice. "You mean to kill her."

Athos did not answer, only continued to concentrate on the night sky – and formulate in his mind what needed to be done.

d'Artagnan studied him closely, "I don't think you should. If you do this; she would have won in destroying you. You would have no peace. This act would kill you bit by bit; and I would not know you anymore."

Athos turned to d'Artagnan and heard worry in those words. He knew that he had felt premonitions about him in the past; and he had promised not to dismiss them.

"I would want to save you from that Athos. If you let her live – perhaps in a way it would."

Athos looked warmly at his friend; and felt blessed to know him. He would do what he must when the time came – but was glad for the advice. d'Artagnan would never know how much his good will meant to him.

He clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder and stood, "Let's go up and meet with the others, I think I have a plan."

d'Artagnan stood with him, and just as they were about to move toward the stairs, put his arm out and stopped their forward movement. He looked down at his pauldron, and handed it out to his mentor – who took it from his outstretched hands and placed it back on his shoulder where it belonged.

* * *

The end. Thank you everyone for reading Good Advice. I hope the final chapter was satisfactory and rounded things out okay. Please let me know what you think! Constance's advice is accredited to rycbarm123; I hope you like it.


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